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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27702268">to be awake is to be alive</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychoLimbo/pseuds/PsychoLimbo'>PsychoLimbo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dead by Daylight (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Spirits, Basically this au takes place after NOES 2010 and shit happened and now Quentin Sees Creepy Shit, Found Family, Frank is also tired but he also has lowkey himbo energy, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Quentin is fucking TIRED, Quentin probably has a bigger criminal record than Frank tbh, Self indulgent AU, The Legion is a found family and I don't take criticism, because hes been subjected to years of seeing ghosts and shit, but by god does he do petty crimes, frank never turned to murder, kind of not really but Frank values people close to him a lot and he's also a dumb motherfucker, like Shoplifting and Jaywalking, my city now, oooh, quentin is jaded as hell, so he might be OOC but who cares, thank you freddy fucking krueger, there will be suggestive shit and copious amounts of cursing because Frank is here, you traumatized my boy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 04:07:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>30,647</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27702268</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychoLimbo/pseuds/PsychoLimbo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Nightmare may have ended with Freddy Krueger, but the dream will never truly pass for Quentin Smith.</p>
<p>AU in which Quentin's existence was messed with by the dream-jumping nonsense from Nightmare on Elm Street (2010) and now he sees ghosts and spirits and monsters.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frank Morrison/Quentin Smith, Joey &amp; Julie &amp; Frank Morrison &amp; Susie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>92</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is completely self-indulgent and very similar to other shit I've written for other fandoms but by god the day i stop writing spirit aus is the day I fucking die. And if it aint broke don't fix it. Since people seem to like this stuff, I'll keep fuckin writing it.</p>
<p>You can thank <a href="https://frank-a-mori-son.tumblr.com/">this incredible blog</a> for getting me into this ship, please go give them a follow because they're INCREDIBLE</p>
<p>If anyone wants to beta read this for me please hmu because this is gloriously unbeta'd</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Well? Do you have anything to say for yourselves?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A short, round woman with a harsh face sits across from Quentin Smith and Frank Morrison, drumming her perfectly manicured nails against the polished wood of her desk. Her hazel eyes scrutinize the two university students coldly, like frog specimens on a dissection table. And while Frank pointedly avoids her gaze, Quentin holds it and returns it with a chilly look of his own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I have better places to be, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Quentin sourly thinks to himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman heaves a sigh and slowly, deliberately, rises from her seat. She laces her fingers behind her back, striding across the room to glance out the window at the darkening sky. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She remains silent for a short time more before levelly asking, “Do you two take me for a fool?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin narrows his eyes further. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The shadows at the corners of the room dance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“With all due respect,” Frank finally says, leaning back so his chair is balanced precariously on two legs, “I think an “esteemed Dean” such as yourself should be dealing with more important things than two suspected vandals.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Dean turns to fixate Frank with a harsh stare. Quentin tries to ignore the dancing shapes outside the window. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A black cat melts from the Dean’s shadow and perches on the corner of her desk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Solid white eyes meet Quentin’s blue ones. Gaping mouths open and close all over the cat’s smooth body, whispering words that only Quentin can hear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Freak boundary-walker abomination wrong misfit freak freak outcast.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s nothing Quentin hasn’t heard before. In fact, he’s heard worse. So he easily ignores the eldritch cat and keeps his icy stare locked on the Dean. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have a duty to uphold the University’s pristine reputation. And seeing as you’ve both been caught on surveillance cameras “tagging” various walls of the school, I am merely carrying out my duty.” The Dean continues.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>White, unseeing eyes burn holes in Quentin’s skin as the cat drifts across the room, twin tails swishing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s growing dark outside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin takes a breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have an appointment with a counsellor soon. Can I leave?” he asks, deadpan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cat is sitting at his feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Dean slams a hand down on her desk. Frank jumps. Quentin does not. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you may not! You have misdemeanours to-!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In case you don’t recall, I was a survivor of the Springwood Murders.” Quentin interjects coldly, “Missing an appointment with my counsellor means denying a victim their mental health treatment. And should that little secret be leaked on social media, I’m sure it’ll affect the university’s reputation much more than some stupid graffiti.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Dean purses her lips, eyes burning. The cat hisses at Quentin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few moments later, he’s walking out of the Dean’s office with Frank Morrison in tow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin knows very little about Frank, no more than any other student, really. All he knows is that Frank is a major nuisance to school authorities, local law enforcement, and janitors citywide, as well as being the lead man of some stupid little gang called “The Legion”. Well, that along with whatever he hears repeated by voice-mimicking spirits. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin is very aware of Frank’s grey eyes burning the back of his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What.” he mutters, stopping and glancing back over his shoulder at the taller young man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank seems somewhat taken aback by the blunt word, but recovers quickly and wedges his hands in the pockets of his hooded varsity jacket. “I heard you were weird, but I never heard you had balls of titanium.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin blinks slowly, like a cat. “Not all of my reputation precedes me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Obviously not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sunset outside the university building is growing fainter. Quentin manages to hide the tension in his shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shadows are beginning to awaken.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin turns back around, walking slightly faster than he was before. “I have places to be. I guess I’ll see you later when we’re forced to clean up our underappreciated artwork.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah. I guess? I’ll see you later.” Frank manages to stutter out, evidently still caught off guard by Quentin’s blunt manner of speaking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin isn’t bothered by how easily he makes people feel strange and uncomfortable. That’s part of his whole schtick, after all, and following the whole Freddy Krueger incident, he can’t be bothered to give a shit about what other people think.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has more important things to worry about, like the rapidly-encroaching night, and the spirits that come with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The nightmare may have ended with the second death of Freddy Krueger, but the dream itself never truly stopped for Quentin. And it never will.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Frank Morrison is, in his own words, “the human embodiment of a sandpaper dildo: useless, disappointing, and a huge pain in the ass.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Juggled around by the lackluster machine that is the foster system for almost 15 years, Frank found an outlet for his frustrations in petty crimes and major pranks. From shoplifting to vandalism to replacing his math professor’s Windex with blue Gatorade, Frank finds joy in being a mild-to-moderate nuisance. It gives off a little bit of light in his otherwise dismal and aimless life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t find many things entertaining. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But this evening was different.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he makes the return journey to the house he shares with his three friends, he finds himself thinking about Quentin Smith. Mainly about how strange he really is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin’s well-known on campus as a strange, enigmatic ex-athlete who survived the gruesome and unsolved Springwood Murders, but Frank had never met the guy before. Until today, that is. Frank never imagined they’d meet like this, let alone discover that Quentin is supposedly some sort of graffiti terrorist around town. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a weird thing to find out, that’s for damn sure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The streets are mainly empty, save for the usual handful of drug addicts and late-night joggers that frequent Frank’s neighbourhood. But Frank doesn’t feel the slightest bit nervous whenever a stranger’s eyes focus on him. Not anymore, at least. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s past the point of caring, and all he really looks forward to these days is the companionship of his friends, “The Legion”. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he walks, he thinks, and the more he thinks, the more he considers asking Quentin to join The Legion. Not out of kindness or pity, but because Quentin is fascinating and unpredictable, and Frank wants the high that Quentin’s enigmatic nature can provide.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But before he can come to a conclusion, Frank has reached the front door of the little five-bedroom house he shares with his friends. He decides to put off thinking about Quentin until tomorrow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door is thrown open. Inside, a tan-skinned girl with braces and pink hair faces Frank. She grins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow, thought you were dead for sure!” She jokes with a mischievous glint in her eye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only on the inside, Suz, only on the inside,” Frank replies lightly, playfully shoving her back and stepping inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the living room, one of the other Legion members, Joey, sits on the couch with a Playstation controller in hand. His dark eyes are fixated on the TV and there’s a half-empty bowl of popcorn on his lap. Frank purposefully stops directly in the way of the TV. “Hey.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Frank, not now, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m about to-!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank spreads his arms out to the sides, effectively blocking out 90% of the TV screen. “About to what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s an exaggerated string of death throes from the speakers, followed by a “YOU ARE DEAD” screen. Joey lets out a frustrated yell. Frank gives him a grin that’s best described with two words: shit eating.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Miss me?” Frank teases. He’s promptly whacked in the face by a cushion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joey, who threw said cushion, grumbles, “No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aw, nice to know I’m loved.” Frank laughs, which somehow manages to pull a smile from Joey as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Having effectively lightened the mood, Frank relaxes and turns to Suzie. “How’s Julie doing? Still feeling like shit?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suzie’s smile fades. “I still think we should go to a mental health clinic, Frank. This doesn’t seem like a normal bout of seasonal depression.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I agree, but she’s gonna be kicking and screaming the whole way and she’ll probably bite the psychiatrist.” Joey adds with a sigh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Julie, the final member of The Legion, has struggled with her mental health as long as any of them can remember. It’s usually helped by her medication, but over the past month, not even that has seemed to help. Frank takes a breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m gonna go up and check on her.” he says, making his way towards the stairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suzie and Joey say nothing, simply giving Frank encouraging looks. Regardless, those looks still make Frank feel reassured. He returns them with a smile before climbing the stairs and traveling down the hall to Julie’s room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stops in front of the door, taking a moment to consider his actions. Then, after a short deliberation period, he raps his knuckles lightly on the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a smile, he softly calls, “Housekeeping here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck off, Frank.” Julie mumbles from inside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aw, come on, Jules. I might have something for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you do, I’m not interested.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank sighs. “Can I at least come check on you? You’ve got us all worried and shit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re checking on me now. And as you can see, I’m fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As much as Frank wants to argue, he resigns himself to respecting Julie’s boundaries and backs away from the door. Running a hand through his dark brown hair, he calls, “Well, if you need anything, we’re here. Don’t forget that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No response. Frank, feeling thoroughly defeated, makes his way back downstairs, where Suzie and Joey shoot him excited glances. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did it go?” Suzie presses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank drags his hands down his face. “Not good, guys. She’s really got me worried.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Join the club.” Joey says. “But I think we should take her to a mental health center anyways.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. Okay.” Frank breathes. “First thing tomorrow, we get her in the car and take her to someone who can help. This shit’s getting scary, guys.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah…” Suzie murmurs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And with that, the three remaining Legion members resign themselves to waiting. There’s nothing they can do at the moment, other than simply be present in the case that Julie needs anything.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Scritch scritch scritch.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin stirs in his sleep, slowly being dragged back to the waking world. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Tap tap tap tap.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a groan, the exhausted young man tries pulling a pillow over his head to block out the noise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>BANG BANG BANG.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unable to ignore the noise any longer, Quentin throws the pillow off his head and sits upright with a venomous glare at his bedroom window. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Through the lazily-drifting curtains, an eerie golden light shimmers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the paralytic air of Quentin’s bedroom, a turbulent tension begins to raise its head. A chill rips through the room, making him shiver in the wake of it, and he finds himself forced to act. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He swings his legs over the edge of his small bed and slogs over to the window, where he throws open the curtains ruefully. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This had better be important.” he snarls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the other side of the glass is a creature he’s quite familiar with: a spirit, made up of several oscillating rings circling a ball of golden flame. The rings are covered in wide, panicked eyes that lock onto Quentin and steal his breath away, and bangles of every colour adorn the spirit’s rings. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I am in need of your help, boundary-dweller.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin barks out a cold, humorless laugh. “Spirits are always so high-and-mighty around me until they need my help. Calling me an abomination and shit and scorning me until, god forbid, some cataclysmic thing occurs and forces them to ask for my help. Well, tough luck. I’m not helping.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Quentin moves to shut the blinds again, the spirit howls and phases through the window to slam into Quentin’s chest. His breath is stolen away, leaving him hacking and choking as the spirit pins him to the floor and fills his head with feelings of </span>
  <em>
    <span>panic fear worry panic panic danger fear</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and the image of a blonde-haired girl in a dark room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin’s certain he’s going to lose consciousness with the intensity of the spirit’s emotions, but just before he does, the spirit retreats and lets him go. Coughing, Quentin hauls himself into a seated position and leans back against the side of his bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Help help please protect save danger</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As much as he’d like to just tell the spirit to go screw itself, Quentin can’t quite ignore the feelings and images the spirit instilled in him. He’s always been the type who, unfortunately, feels immensely guilty for not helping someone in need, and his good nature demands he go help.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taking another few moments to catch his lost breath, he nods and holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The spirit chatters excitedly, its bangles jingling as they hit one another, and backs away to hover urgently near the window. Quentin rises to his feet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s the problem?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>My charge is being fed on by jinxes. I fear she may be falling into a dark place.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Running a hand through his wavy hair, Quentin considers the spirit’s words. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jinxes are a particularly nasty breed of spirit on the second plane, that tend to feed off the emotions and dreams of creatures on the first plane. In return, they instill in their hosts a sense of despair and hopelessness that eventually leads to a deep depression. It’s rare for jinxes to cause such damage, as antidepressant medications tend to reinforce the host’s mental fortitude, and the host’s Guardian spirit is usually able to chase the jinxes off, but it isn’t impossible for the little bastards to do a lot of harm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This Guardian seems to have let the jinx issue get quite far out of hand. And now it’s become a mess for Quentin to clean up. He sighs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grabs the worn-out old satchel in the corner of his dingy room, pulls on a hat and coat, and makes his way out of his apartment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To anyone else, it looks as though he’s merely heading out for a late-night study session. Yet if anyone truly knew about the peculiarity of Quentin’s existence, they’d understand that the sight of that satchel is a surefire sign that the narcoleptic young man is off to deal with spiritual bullshit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s careful to lock his apartment door when leaving, and walks quietly down the hall with the spirit at his shoulder. The hall lights flicker as he passes them, a normal occurrence for Quentin, and the spirit emits a soft warmth that almost soothes Quentin’s anxiety. Almost. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the fact remains that Quentin is most likely going to have to break and enter (as usual for these sorts of situations) to deal with this problem. And most people tend to be at least a little anxious at the prospect of committing a misdemeanour.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least it’s not a felony, though.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, Quentin’s been hit by enough baseball bats to know that there’s a certain level of risk that comes with breaking and entering. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lets out a slow, deliberate breath as he steps out of his shitty apartment complex and into the night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Drifting along like lost balloons on a summer breeze, spirits wander the streets in great numbers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From small creatures not unlike fireflies, to humanoid sprites, to skyscraper-sized behemoths in the distance, the spirits outnumber humans ten to one. And the moment Quentin steps outside, their otherworldly, ancient eyes fixate him with malevolence and distrust. But it’s nothing Quentin isn’t already used to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Guardian spirit at his side, however, seems slightly surprised at the open and obvious disgust that Quentin is shown. At least, its many eyes flash with a degree of shock. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I have heard tales of your existence, and how it is believed to be a hex in itself. Yet I never truly believed the scorn was this severe.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, I don’t need your pity.” Quentin grumbles sourly. “Just show me where your human is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The spirit doesn’t make any more small talk. Instead, it leads the way for several blocks, until the buildings grow less commercial and more residential. And finally, they stop outside a painfully average-looking house in a crappy neighbourhood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The siding is sun-bleached and on the verge of falling apart, but the flowerbeds in the front are surprisingly well-cared for, and there’s a light on in the living room. Silhouettes and shadows pass over the windows, and Quentin can hear the vague rumble of people talking inside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Furrowing his brow, he glances aside at the spirit. “Which room is hers?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Follow me, world-walker.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The spirit leads him around the house, and Quentin follows in complete silence. He doesn’t so much as displace a pebble with his steps, walking quietly as a panther, with his eyes trained on the spirit ahead of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It stops beneath a window on the second floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That is her room.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin glances from the spirit, to the window, and back again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He clears his throat before hissing, “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m bound by the laws of gravity like the rest of my fellow first-plane-dwellers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The spirit’s many eyes flicker with surprise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You mean to tell me you cannot harness my power and fly as the legends state you can?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin reaches up to rub at his temples. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why not?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I like keeping my sanity,” Quentin grumbles, “...and because the last time I did it was by complete accident during the Springwood Murders.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah. I see. It has something to do with how you banished that ghost to the third plane, yes?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin fixes the spirit with a hard glare. “I’d rather not talk about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Understandable. I shall carry you up.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“With </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> arms?” Quentin can’t stop himself from shooting back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Obviously, this earns him a sharp look from the spirit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Your reputation as a very disagreeable creature is accurate. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are we helping this girl or not?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes. Now, I’d like you to grab one of my rings. I will lift you to the window. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin blinks. “Two questions.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ask them quickly.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“First, won’t it hurt if my hands touch your eyes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I do not feel pain as you do.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And second,” Quentin begins, glancing over his shoulder at the street, “How am I gonna explain myself if someone sees me floating up to the second floor of a house?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You have never explained yourself before, if my guess is correct. Just use your sharp tongue and quick wit as a defense against outside suspicion.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin thinks that perhaps this is a lackluster answer. But he doesn’t argue, instead reaching out to grab onto one of the spirit’s many rings. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t hesitate to rise into the air, lifting him straight up to the second-floor window. And after a few moments of awkward reposition and adjustment, Quentin manages to slide open the window with his feet and slips inside. The spirit follows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lying with her back to him on the bed, is a young woman with short-cropped blonde hair and fair skin. She hasn’t noticed his entry, probably because the jinxes feeding off of her have rendered her mainly oblivious to anything other than her own dark thoughts. And speaking of the jinxes…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>...they cover the walls like cockroaches in a hoarding house, scuttling around and hissing, whispering curses and insults to Quentin and burning him with their beady red eyes. No two jinxes look alike, and the longer Quentin tries to focus on them, the less defined they look. They’re merely shimmering balls of black energy with ruby eyes and voices like metal on ice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After taking a moment to absorb it all in, Quentin clears his throat and reaches into his satchel. He withdraws a piece of white chalk, scrutinizes it for imperfections, then makes his way over to a bare patch of wall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once he’s shooed the jinxes away from that section of wall, Quentin begins to draw. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The spirit watches with interest, its many eyes following the stroke of his chalk as he hastily scrawls a ring of intricate detail, surrounded by characters not unlike hieroglyphs. And as he finishes the seal, it lights up brilliant white.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room is bathed in light like the sun reflected off snow, nearly blinding in its brightness, but that’s just what Quentin is hoping for. At the flash of light, the jinxes coating the walls shriek in alarm, leaping into the air and swarming for the open window as the seal scalds their ever-shifting skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes about a minute for all of them to leave, and when they do, Quentin is left standing in the middle of the room facing the now-fully awake girl. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows he looks terrible, what with his gaunt face and shadowy eyes, so he fully expects the girl to scream and chase him out the window. But she doesn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She merely watches him with surprise before glancing at the chalk mural on her wall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did…” she finally speaks in a raspy voice, “...did you do something to my head?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin cracks a smile, one that very obviously hides a secret. “I just took care of some pests on behalf of someone who cares about you very much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The young woman cocks an eyebrow at him in confusion, but doesn’t press the issue further. Instead, she swings her legs over the edge of her bed and rises to her feet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Whoa, you don’t wanna get too close-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait a minute...are you Quentin fucking Smith?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shit</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin swallows. “Uh, no? I’m the...evil twin…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So the rumors are true: you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> weirder than everyone thinks!” she exclaims, pointing to the mural on the wall, “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>saw</span>
  </em>
  <span> that. I saw your lightshow. What was that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Quentin can do anything, the door opens to paint the room in light from the hall. Both the girl and Quentin squint against the sudden brightness, and Quentin feels like he’s going to have the ever-loving hell beat out of him by the newcomer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Julie? What’s the noi--</span>
  <em>
    <span>Quentin?!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course. Of fucking COURSE Quentin had to break into the </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> house where Frank Morrison and his creepy Legion lives. He’s dead. That’s that, Quentin is fucking dead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Frank, he did something and it...I don’t know, it cured whatever depression I had? Quentin, show him!” Julie says excitedly, but by the time she glances back at him, Quentin’s already bolting for the window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The mural itself is questionable at best. There’s no evidence to suggest that Quentin was in the room for anything other than devious reasons. So he’s taking his leave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank, unfortunately, is also lunging after Quentin with a shout of, “Dude, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wait!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Quentin is nothing if not absolutely paranoid 95 percent of the time, and he doesn’t listen. He jumps out the window. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank’s hand locks onto his ankle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now Quentin is quite adept at minimizing his fall damage, utilizing techniques he learned off YouTube parkour channels, but these techniques only work when </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>in control of his fall. Not when he’s knocked out of control by some jackass who thinks it’s a good idea to grab Quentin’s ankle in midair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of managing to twist in midair to land on his feet, Quentin is stopped dead by his pursuer and he’s unintentionally swung forward and down to smash his face against the house’s siding. He lets out a shout of pain at both the impact and the very obvious sprain in his ankle as he hangs upside-down from Julie’s second-floor window. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh fuck, you good?” Frank’s voice comes from the window above. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin resists the urge to shoot back something snarky and instead wrenches his ankle free of the delinquent’s grasp, twisting in midair in an attempt to land on his feet. He does, but his injured ankle cracks ominously and explodes with pain that makes him fall forward to his hands and knees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In spite of the agonizing pain, Quentin forces himself to his feet and starts limping away at a brisk pace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hears a muffled remark of “holy shit he’s crazy” from the open window, but Quentin doesn’t stick around to hear the rest of that conversation. After all, he can hear Frank racing down the stairs to presumably catch Quentin and question him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Good god, can people just </span>
  <em>
    <span>ignore</span>
  </em>
  <span> him? It’s almost like the universe </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants </span>
  </em>
  <span>Quentin to suffer for doing good deeds. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(As if the whole Freddy Krueger incident wasn’t punishment enough.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He continues on despite hearing Frank’s footsteps racing up behind him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All he needs is something, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything, </span>
  </em>
  <span>to make Frank’s pursuit of him more difficult, but of course, the universe is unkind. And Quentin is a scrawny ex-swimmer who hasn’t so much as </span>
  <em>
    <span>looked </span>
  </em>
  <span>at a pool in years, while Frank is an athlete in his prime. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not hard for Frank to catch him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A hand catches the back of Quentin’s dark blue hoodie and yanks him backwards hard enough to give him whiplash. But instead of struggling in vain to get away, Quentin steels himself, whips around, and cracks his forehead against Frank’s nose. The taller university student recoils with a string of curses, and Quentin uses his momentary distraction to yank his jacket free of Frank’s grip. He makes a break for a narrow space between two garages, but a heavy force crashes into him from behind and knocks him to the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin’s jaw strikes the ground and he tastes blood. He lets out a muffled groan of pain, but has no time to assess the damage before he’s flipped onto his back and pinned down spread-eagle, looking into the sweaty, scarred face of Frank Morrison.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They hold one another’s gazes for a short time, Quentin glaring daggers at his captor, before Frank heaves a sigh and says, “How are you so damn slippery even with a fucked up ankle?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I run on pure, unadulterated spite.” Quentin spits back flatly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank smirks at Quentin’s snarky words. “Charming.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My charisma is off the charts, especially when being flattened by someone’s fat ass. Thanks, by the way. Think I broke a tooth </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> my ankle.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank’s grey eyes flicker with what looks like concern. “Oh God, really? Sorry, man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing I haven’t experienced before. Actually, it’s pretty mild compared to the shit I deal with on a daily basis. But still, screw you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look dude,” Frank groans, reaching up to drag his bandaged hands down his freckled face, “whatever you did with that weird light, it managed to help Julie with her depression, and while I’m hella grateful for that, I think I’m owed an explanation of what fuckery that was in Julie’s room.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t owe anyone anything. Especially not you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ouch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I should be the one saying that, seeing as you chased me half a block just to smash my face into the concrete.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank throws his arms in the air. “I said I was sorry, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus-”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin writhes violently, wriggling out from under Frank. Unfortunately, he only makes it about five feet before Frank flattens him again. Strong hands hold Quentin down securely, and the brunet heaves an annoyed sigh as Frank mutters, “What are you, a wild dog or somethin’?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Most people don’t appreciate being pinned down like this. We can’t all be into what you’re into, Morrison.” Quentin shoots back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of protesting the sarcastic accusation, though, Frank laughs and replies, “I thought people were over kinkshaming in the year of our lord, 2019.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost </span>
  </em>
  <span>smiles at that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Almost.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But thankfully, he’s managed to nurture a pretty damn good poker face over the years, and he just gives Frank a disinterested scowl. The taller student shakes his dark brown hair out of his eyes with a tired mutter of, “You ain’t easy to impress, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, man. When you see the shit I see, it takes a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> to impress me.” Quentin says. “I’ve fought gods and won.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frank blinks owlishly. “Really?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s an awkward silence for a few moments, but Quentin eventually breaks it by falling limp under Frank’s grip and mumbling, “Okay, I give up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I said, I give up. Take me to the police for breaking and entering or whatever.” Quentin elaborates with an emphatic wave of his fingers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The police will be a pain in the ass to deal with, but it’s preferable to being beaten to death by Frank Morrison. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do...do you even understand who I am?” Frank asks incredulously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin gives him a withering glance. “Frank Morrison, professional pain in the ass. I’m very aware of your reputation.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I mean…” Frank takes a breath, presumably to prevent himself from punching Quentin in the throat right here and now, “...I literally have several misdemeanours on my record, man. I’m not going to the fucking cops.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a flicker of surprise, Quentin hums. “Huh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Frank sighs before wincing at Quentin’s bruised and bloodied face. “Look...I’m sorry. For messing you up like I did. Can you at least let us patch you up? As thanks for helping Jules.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you care?” Quentin snaps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because you helped a friend of mine and I feel bad for turning your face into a goddamn Picasso.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the apt comparison, Quentin can’t help the small snort of laughter that leaves him. He can absolutely appreciate a good sense of humor, and it seems that Frank has just that. So he’ll humor the guy for a bit before making his escape.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smirks. “That’s...nice of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you gonna let us treat you or nah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll come with you.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. alea iacta est</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Once again, this is gloriously unedited and unbeta'd, enjoy!</p>
<p>Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments on the first chapter, I really wasn't expecting anyone to read this, let alone like it! Seriously, you guys are the best! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Frank doesn’t understand what the hell happened in Julie’s room, or why Quentin was involved, but what he <em> does </em>understand is that the scrawny bastard helped Julie get out of her depressed slump somehow. And that’s all he needs to trust Quentin.</p>
<p>A little bit, at least.</p>
<p>He still doesn’t trust the weird, almost feral look in the student’s grey-blue eyes, and the secretive smile he has. But Frank is responsible for messing Quentin up, and Frank is going to try making it up to him. </p>
<p>During their short trek back to the house, Frank makes several observations about Quentin.</p>
<p>One, he refuses any help offered to him.</p>
<p>Two, he keeps looking around at empty air.</p>
<p>Three, he walks as though he’s skirting around other people, even when there’s nothing there.</p>
<p>These three things are concerning, at least to Frank, and he’s not sure what the hell would explain them. But he doesn’t say anything for fear of scaring Quentin off. </p>
<p>When they reach the house, Joey, Julie, and Suzie are all waiting in the living room. They immediately turn to focus on Quentin, who seems to tense up at the attention he’s getting. His blue eyes grow stony, betraying none of his emotions at all. And he says nothing as Frank pulls the door shut behind them.</p>
<p>“Quentin, this is the Legion: Julie, Joey, and Suzie. Legion, this is Quentin.” Frank introduces hastily before placing a hand on Quentin’s shoulder and guiding him further into the house.</p>
<p>Quentin tries several times to shrug Frank’s hand off, but Frank is nothing if not stubborn, and he doesn’t let go of Quentin. </p>
<p>He has Quentin sit down on the couch, and the moment he leaves the room to find the first aid kit, he catches snippets of the Legion bombarding Quentin with questions.</p>
<p>“What was that light?”</p>
<p>“Why did you draw that thing on the wall?”</p>
<p>“You jumped out a second-floor window, are you okay?”</p>
<p>“How fucked up is your ankle?”</p>
<p>Frank finds the medical kit quickly and hurries back to the living room. He’s not sure how Quentin will react to the constant attention and non-stop questioning, and he’d rather not find out his limits the hard way.</p>
<p>When he returns, Quentin is quick to snap his head around at Frank. His eyes, again, betray nothing, but the set of his shoulders make Frank think that maybe the scrawny bastard is getting anxious. Frank clears his throat.</p>
<p>The lights in the room flicker.</p>
<p>“Okay guys, let me through. I need to deal with this shit.” Frank says, and the Legion seems to get the idea. They step back to give Frank and Quentin some space.</p>
<p>As Frank begins assessing Quentin’s ankle, he becomes increasingly aware of his guest’s growing anxiety. But it isn’t directed towards Frank, no. </p>
<p>Quentin’s unreadable eyes are trained on something just over Frank’s shoulder. Something he can’t see or feel. A nervous shudder runs down his spine. </p>
<p>Frank <em> knows </em> Quentin is aware of something the average person isn’t. But whether it’s just paranoia or something truly unnerving, Frank isn’t sure. </p>
<p>He only notices his friends have left the room when Quentin finally speaks in that eerie, deadpan voice of his, “So what’s the damage?”</p>
<p>“Huh?”</p>
<p>“My ankle.” Quentin explains. “How wrecked is it?”</p>
<p>Frank mentally slaps himself for sounding so airheaded. “Oh, it’s...it’s pretty swollen and bruised, but I don’t think it’s broken, so-”</p>
<p>“Good. A hospital visit is something I’d like to avoid.” Quentin interrupts bluntly.</p>
<p>Cocking an eyebrow, Frank asks, “Are you nervous about hospitals or something?”</p>
<p>“You could say that.” Quentin replies, not bothering to explain more. </p>
<p>An awkward silence stretches between them as Frank wraps Quentin’s ankle. </p>
<p>It takes some time for Frank to find the right words. And it takes even longer for him to muster up the courage to speak them aloud. But after an unnecessarily long period of hesitation and deliberation, Frank asks, “Could you explain what you did in Julie’s room? I know it’s some...occult shit or something, judging by the thing you drew on the wall, but I never thought that stuff actually...you know...<em> worked.” </em></p>
<p>Quentin watches Frank for a time, his eyes betraying nothing. He blinks slowly, catlike, then pulls his injured leg back away from Frank. </p>
<p>“It isn’t occult.” Quentin says.</p>
<p>“What is it, then?”</p>
<p>“It’s a curse.” The shorter student laughs, and Frank is unsure whether that’s the truth or a joke. But either way, the self-deprecating tone those words are spoken in catches Frank’s attention. </p>
<p>“A curse?”</p>
<p>Quentin’s eyes glitter with something eerie, unnerving. His smile doesn’t reach them. </p>
<p>The lights flicker. </p>
<p>“It’s a curse. One that must be carried alone, and was brought about by tragedy. It punishes the punished and helps no one.” Quentin explains in a cold voice despite his smile.</p>
<p>The air grows stagnant and musty.</p>
<p>Frank shivers.</p>
<p>Yet as quickly as the oppressive tension appeared, it vanishes. Quentin’s eyes drift down to the air at Frank’s right side, and the skinny university student is quick to undo...whatever the hell it was that he did. He sighs, leaning back on the couch and bringing his foot up to inspect his freshly-bandaged ankle.</p>
<p>“Thanks, by the way. Not many people would go out of their way to help an unwanted guest.” Quentin says in a quiet voice, still not looking up at Frank.</p>
<p>Frank shrugs, reaching up to rub nonchalantly at his chin. “Like I said, it’s to repay you for helping Jules.”</p>
<p>“You’re certain it’s not because I’m so charismatic?” Quentin asks with a tiny smirk.</p>
<p>Was that an actual joke? Did Quentin “no emotions” Smith just make a genuine joke? Frank’s pretty sure the stars have aligned or some shit, because he’s finding out way more about Quentin than he’d ever expected. </p>
<p>Frank rises to his feet with a soft laugh. “As hard as it is to believe, you’ve somehow managed to entertain me. So maybe you’re more charismatic than you think you are.”</p>
<p>Quentin’s face scrunches up in a grimace. “Thanks for the compliment, but no.”</p>
<p>“Suit yourself, man.” Frank says with a shrug. “You can stay the night if you want. Blankets are in the hall closet.”</p>
<p>Quentin doesn’t say “thank you” or make any further remarks as Frank leaves the room. But Frank isn’t offended by that. In fact, he’s already buzzing with excitement at all the things he’s learning about the supposedly secretive Quentin. </p>
<p>Perhaps Frank has found something new to be entertained by.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The moment the lights shut off, Quentin’s skin crawls with the sensation of being watched. And he knows exactly who’s watching him. </p>
<p>With a groan, he sits up from his place on the couch to see a Guardian spirit sitting across the room from him. </p>
<p>It looks similar to a jackal, with mottled red-brown and grey fur, four paws, and large ears, but two things make it very clear that this is not a normal jackal. One being the writhing snake in place of a tail, and the second being the stark-white mask on its face bearing a chilling grin and two round eyes. It sits still as a statue in the corner of the room, its drawn-on eyes locked onto Quentin and making him nervous. </p>
<p>Finally, it rises to its paws and strides swiftly across the room to hop up and sit on the coffee table. </p>
<p>
  <em> You are not welcome here, boundary-dweller. </em>
</p>
<p>Quentin takes a brief look at the perimeter of the room to make sure nobody is eavesdropping before murmuring, “I’m a guest in this house. Your human made it abundantly clear that I <em> am </em> welcome here.”</p>
<p>
  <em> Frank is impulsive and reckless. He knows not what is good for him.  </em>
</p>
<p>“So you’re just gonna ignore the fact that I helped Julie with her jinx problem when none of you spirits bothered to help?”</p>
<p>The Guardian snarls, rising to its paws as the serpent tail curves over its back to hiss at Quentin. </p>
<p>
  <em> I am responsible only for my own human. </em>
</p>
<p>“Yeah, but your human was concerned for the wellbeing of his friend. You did nothing to help when Frank was worried sick. What kind of Guardian does that make you?”</p>
<p>The air temperature drops below freezing, leaving Quentin shivering against the bite of it, and it grows harder to breathe. The Guardian takes a menacing step closer. </p>
<p>
  <em> Do not judge my methods when you have no Guardian of your own to protect you from me.  </em>
</p>
<p>“You think I care?” Quentin laughs. “I’ve been alone for a <em> long </em> time. There’s nothing you can do to hurt me.”</p>
<p>The Guardian’s muscles bunch beneath its skin, and Quentin stiffens, ready to fight off the spirit tooth and nail if he has to. But before the spirit can do anything, a soft warmth blankets the room, chasing away the icy chill, and Julie’s Guardian melts through the wall.</p>
<p>
  <em> You are ungrateful, Masked one.  </em>
</p>
<p>The jackal whips around to face the ringed spirit. </p>
<p>
  <em> And you are foolish.  </em>
</p>
<p>Quentin glances rapidly between the two, wondering silently if he’s about to watch two Guardians fight. </p>
<p>The ringed spirit blinks its many eyes. </p>
<p>
  <em> The boundary-dweller helped myself and my human despite facing such scorn from spirits like yourself. Show some courtesy. </em>
</p>
<p>The jackal sits back down, its ears flat against its head. </p>
<p>
  <em> I owe the boy nothing. He is a hazard to us and our charges. You know not what he is capable of. </em>
</p>
<p>With a chiming laugh, the ringed spirit continues.</p>
<p>
  <em> I understand the risks, and I am comfortable allowing him refuge here. If he truly wanted to harm us and our charges, he would have done so already.  </em>
</p>
<p>Quentin takes a breath. “I promise you, I won’t do anything to cause trouble. And I’ll leave by morning. You don’t have anything to worry about.”</p>
<p>Both spirits turn to face him with their otherworldly eyes. After watching him for a few moments, the jackal snorts and whisks its serpentine tail.</p>
<p>
  <em> I suppose a single night here will be...suitable. </em>
</p>
<p>“Thank you.” Quentin sighs, his eyes traveling anxiously to the front window.</p>
<p>He shudders at the thought of having to return to his apartment in the dark without a friendly spirit at his side.  His eyes drift back to the jackal Guardian, who seems to have noticed Quentin’s nerves. </p>
<p>
  <em> You fear the night because it is when The Entity is close to the Second Plane.  </em>
</p>
<p>“Astute observation, Sherlock.”</p>
<p>The jackal’s grinning mask seems to smile wider. </p>
<p>
  <em> She seeks you for your abilities. </em>
</p>
<p>Quentin can practically taste the jackal’s excitement, sensing the malevolent gears turning in its head. He leans forward abruptly, fingers digging into the couch cushions.</p>
<p>“<em> Reveal my location and I promise you, there are fates worse than death.” </em></p>
<p>The jackal’s hackles raise.</p>
<p>
  <em> What will you do, boundary-dweller? You have no fangs or claws, and your weapons are few. </em>
</p>
<p>Quentin narrows his eyes with a sadistic grin. “It isn’t hard for me to find your true name.”</p>
<p>The jackal’s grin falters. </p>
<p>
  <em> Pardon me? </em>
</p>
<p>“Don’t you wonder why I’ve never been revealed to The Entity before?”</p>
<p>He steps towards the jackal, his grin widening. “Those who tried have lost their connections to the First Plane, and by extension, their charges and their past lives. They wander the Third Plane aimlessly, forever trying to recover their names, but they never will. Not unless <em> I </em> will it.”</p>
<p>What Quentin doesn’t let them know is that the memories of those horrified spirits and ghosts, the ones who tried handing him to The Entity, haunt him. He’s haunted by their begging, their screams, their death threats, and the fact that <em> he’s </em> the one who doomed them to such a fate. Granted, it was a “me or them” situation, and it was Quentin’s only defense, but he tries not to think about those spirits and ghosts at all.</p>
<p>But this is a situation where he must dredge up his past horrors to prevent himself from having to commit them again. </p>
<p>The jackal growls deep in its throat. </p>
<p>
  <em> You are an atrocity. A monster.  </em>
</p>
<p>“Heard it all before,” Quentin says nonchalantly with a shrug, “Try harder.”</p>
<p>With a final snarl and whisk of its tail, the jackal melts into a thin fog. The fog travels out of the room and up the stairs, presumably to watch over Frank as he sleeps, and Julie’s Guardian keeps its distance from Quentin. After staring each other down for a short time, Quentin slumps back on the couch with a world-weary sigh. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry. He was getting on my nerves.” he apologizes, casting a glance at Julie’s Guardian.</p>
<p>
  <em> It is...understandable that you were frightened. </em>
</p>
<p>The spirit’s unease is tangible in the still air of the living room, and Quentin feels guilty because of it. He ruined their short-lived truce by sort of revealing his trump card, his greatest defense against the supernatural, and now the spirit is scared of him. </p>
<p>Quentin shifts to lie flat on his back and pulls a blanket over his thin frame. “I promise you, I’ll only be here until dawn. I’ll leave immediately after.”</p>
<p>
  <em> You may stay as long as you like. </em>
</p>
<p>“No, I know I’ve overstepped my boundaries here.” Quentin continues. “I threatened a Guardian of this home, and unbalanced the power hierarchy here. I’ll leave the moment the Entity isn’t a threat anymore.”</p>
<p>After a short period of hesitation, the spirit dissolves into a tongue of flame and whispers a quick “thank you” before ascending the stairs to Julie’s room once more. Quentin, now left lying on the couch by himself, rolls over to face the wall. </p>
<p>He can <em> feel </em> the Entity’s oppressive presence lapping at the walls of the house, unable to enter the dwelling yet still hunting for victims to sate her endless thirst for suffering. And despite the safety of the house, Quentin still has to fight off fearful shivers. </p>
<p>His scars ache.</p>
<p>He tries to sleep for a while, but when his anxiety reaches its peak, he groans inwardly and reaches into his pants pocket. His fingers find the smooth surface of a Sharpie. </p>
<p>Quentin is quick to uncap the marker, holding the lid in his teeth as he pulls down the collar of his shirt and scrawls a quick ward down on his skin. It’s tucked just below the neckline of his shirt and jacket so nobody can see it, but it’s legible enough to be functional. </p>
<p>Now with a renewed sense of security, Quentin replaces the cap on his marker and tucks it back into the pocket of his jeans. </p>
<p>It doesn’t take long for him to sink into a very light sleep after that.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“So you woke up and he was just...gone?”</p>
<p>“That’s what I’m telling you, Frank. I woke up at 6 and he was already gone.” Joey sighs, running a hand through his short dreads. </p>
<p>Frank rubs at his temples in irritation. Leave it to Quentin to disappear without a trace before Frank can question him further. Unbelievable. </p>
<p>Joey, however, pulls something out of his hoodie pocket and offers it to Frank. </p>
<p>“He did leave this, though. Think it’s for you.”</p>
<p>Frank takes the small paper from Joey and unfolds it to view the contents, his grey eyes drifting over the hastily-scribbled words. </p>
<p>
  <b> <em>Hey.</em> </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b> <em>Thanks for patching me up and giving me a place to stay the night. I’m not one to overstay my welcome, so I’m leaving at sunrise to avoid that. I’ll be gone by the time you’re awake, but don’t take it as a sign of disrespect. </em> </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b> <em>I’ve put a few measures in place to prevent Julie’s situation from occurring again. </em> </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b> <em>See you later! :)</em> </b>
</p>
<p>“The hell kind of “measures” is he talking about?” Frank remarks incredulously with a glance around the living room.</p>
<p>The room is perfectly spotless, the blankets folded and not a single thing out of place, and Frank is absolutely baffled as to what Quentin even <em> did. </em> Joey shrugs.</p>
<p>“I dunno, man. I looked everywhere and couldn’t find anything.”</p>
<p>Running his fingers through his hair, Frank suggests, “Wonder if he’s just messing with us. I wouldn’t be surprised with how stupidly unpredictable he is.”</p>
<p>“Could be,” Joey says, “But he doesn’t strike me as the type to do that. Like, saying he did something but not actually doing it?”</p>
<p>Frank hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”</p>
<p>As Frank moves to toss the note in the trash, he glances briefly at the clock display on the stove. 7:25 AM. He’s got 35 minutes before he has to be in the Dean’s office. </p>
<p>Normally, this would be one of his days with no classes. Today, however, he’s supposed to clean up the graffiti he got caught throwing up around campus. He heaves a sigh. This is going to be one boring-ass day.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Or, Frank thinks as he enters the Dean’s office, perhaps the day’s going to be more interesting than he expected.</p>
<p>Two students sit in chairs along the Dean’s office wall, Quentin (of course), and Nea Karlsson. Frank wastes no time in crossing the room to sit in the third chair, next to Quentin. As he does, Quentin casts a brief glance at the space next to Frank. The enigmatic young man’s eyes glitter with a spark of unease.</p>
<p>Regardless, he greets Frank with a nod and a mumble of, “Hey.”</p>
<p>Frank returns it with a noncommittal grunt, but something catches his attention. </p>
<p>Quentin doesn’t acknowledge Frank outside of their brief greeting, but even from the side, Frank notices it. </p>
<p>Where Quentin had, the previous night, had a nasty gash on his chin from their scuffle, there’s now only unblemished, pale skin. And Frank can’t help but stare in shock. </p>
<p>“Hey, uh, Quentin?” Frank whispers with a wary glance at the Dean sitting at her desk.</p>
<p>Quentin’s unreadable eyes drift over to meet Frank’s. “What?”</p>
<p>Frank taps his own chin. “What happened to your cut?”</p>
<p>“What cut?” Quentin replies slowly, deliberately, like he’s trying to tell Frank something else through just his tone. </p>
<p>And Frank may be a complete and utter meathead, but he picks up on the fact that Quentin wants him to drop the topic completely and does just that. Yet despite the silent message, Frank is absolutely going to pester Quentin about his freakishly-fast healing later. Whether or not Quentin wants to answer. </p>
<p>Shortly after this, the three students are escorted by the Dean and one of the campus’ janitors to the first tagged wall. </p>
<p>This tag, though, is like nothing Frank’s ever seen. </p>
<p>It almost looks like an intricate pattern of interwoven hieroglyphs and images surrounded by braided rings, but the moment Frank focuses on it directly, it goes fuzzy and out-of-focus. Not to mention, the images and symbols seem to move and dance before changing into new ones. </p>
<p>“Okay,” the janitor sighs, dropping a bin of cleaning supplies and a can of paint on the ground next to them, “you can thank Quentin for this one. Have fun removing it.”</p>
<p>With a sigh, Frank reaches for the bin. </p>
<p>“No.” </p>
<p>Quentin’s blunt remark takes everyone by surprise. Frank stops.</p>
<p>“What did you say?” The Dean hisses menacingly, snapping her head around to glare at Quentin.</p>
<p>Quentin holds her glare and returns it with a stoic look of his own. “I said no.”</p>
<p>“Oh shit, the dweeb snapped,” Nea whispers slyly, elbowing Frank in the ribs as she looks on excitedly.</p>
<p>Frank is still utterly dumbfounded by the sheer ballsiness of Quentin Smith. </p>
<p>“You don’t have a choice in the matter,” The Dean continues, “you’re required-”</p>
<p>“I’m not removing this, and I’ll stand in the way of anyone who tries.” Quentin snaps. “I have my reasons for making this and putting it here, reasons beyond your understanding. And I promise you, removing this symbol will put me, and everyone else on campus, at risk of fates you can’t begin to comprehend.”</p>
<p>A silence stretches between Quentin and the Dean, tense as a piano wire, and it’s like there’s an unspoken war being waged in their stares. The Dean clenches her fists so hard her knuckles pop. </p>
<p>She takes a menacing step closer to Quentin. “You’re risking expulsion, Mr.Smith.”</p>
<p>Quentin smiles, and it’s the most dangerous thing Frank’s ever seen. </p>
<p>The lampposts overhead flicker and pop with sparks, and the shadows around them seem to dance in Frank’s peripheral vision. A low hum resonates in the back of Frank’s skull and rumbles in his lungs, and it takes a minute for him to realize it’s coming from the mural on the wall. </p>
<p>“Expel me then. It doesn’t bother me.” Quentin says flippantly, in a much lighter tone than the dark look on his face reads.</p>
<p>Frank is almost certain a fight is going to break out between Quentin and the Dean, and he prepares to grab Quentin if the need arises. But before the tension reaches a breaking point, there’s the sound of a camera shutter. Everyone turns their heads towards the source of the noise and sees none other than…</p>
<p>...actually, Frank has no idea who this guy is. </p>
<p>He looks to be in his 30’s, with short black hair, and stubble on his face, and he’s holding a digital camera in their direction. The man hums curiously, looking at the display on his camera. “Huh. I could’ve sworn that was a rock-solid shot. Quentin, could you make the same face you were making before? I’d like to get another photo since this one turned out blurry.”</p>
<p>But the tension is gone, and Quentin’s face has closed off once more, back into its normal blank indifference. He shakes his head. “No, I...don’t like having pictures taken of me.”</p>
<p>“Camera-shy, eh? Shame.” The stranger sighs, tucking his camera back into the case slung over his shoulder. “Now, I’m quite intrigued by this mural. Who made it?”</p>
<p>Nea points at Quentin. </p>
<p>Quentin gives her a mildly offended look.</p>
<p>“I expect no less of one of my students,” the man chirps, “creating such incredible work!”</p>
<p>He then casts a glance at the Dean. “I will take care of this from here, my friend. You have no need to worry!”</p>
<p>Seemingly happy to have Quentin, Frank and Nea out of her presence, the Dean snorts and turns on her heel. She leaves the stranger with the three university students. </p>
<p>Now alone with the students, the man folds his arms across his chest and looks Frank up and down. “Now I don’t suppose we’ve met before, have we?”</p>
<p>“Not that I can remember…” Frank admits in a low tone. </p>
<p>The stranger seems unfazed by Frank’s guarded demeanour, instead offering a black-gloved hand with a friendly smile. “Danny Johnson, professor of journalism and photography. And you?”</p>
<p>Frank stares at Danny’s hand. “Frank Morrison. General studies.”</p>
<p>Danny doesn’t seem offended at all by Frank’s reluctance to shake his hand and instead waves it nonchalantly. “Not a fan of handshakes, eh? No problem there. I’m not a fan myself, but unfortunately society demands it as a formality.”</p>
<p>Frank isn’t going to bother answering that. But Danny is once again unbothered and turns to study the mural. </p>
<p>“What an incredible piece,” he remarks, casting a glance at Quentin, “how, exactly, did you make this? The distorted effect has me floored.”</p>
<p>Quentin stiffens. “I...messed with a bunch of spraypaint and shit I bought from an art supply store?”</p>
<p>Frank snorts. What an obvious lie.</p>
<p>And Danny isn’t convinced either, judging by the way he cocks one eyebrow, but he just sighs and says, “Alright then, I’ll not pressure you further. A magician never reveals his secrets, after all!”</p>
<p>At some point, Nea seems to have slunk off and is no longer present. Frank supposes that maybe this was all too boring for her, seeing as she lives a rather fast-paced life, but he isn’t bothered. Danny and Quentin don’t seem to have noticed her escape yet, and continue talking.</p>
<p>Yet Frank is still perplexed. </p>
<p>What <em> is </em> up with the mural? And why did the lights and shadows seem to do weird things when Quentin got angry?</p>
<p>Frank sighs. </p>
<p>He’s going to have to study Quentin more to get to the bottom of this.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Quentin is relieved when Danny doesn’t make him and Frank remove the Ward. </p>
<p>“Relieved” is actually an understatement, but Quentin can’t quite come up with a word to describe just how happy he feels with his professor’s verdict. It takes all his willpower to stop himself from straight up collapsing right there.</p>
<p>The only thing that bothers him about his professor being there, is the fact that Quentin just had his photo taken.</p>
<p>Not because he’s camera-shy, no, but because cameras and video feeds just...don’t work on him. Any photos taken of him are blurred, and any video files are corrupted. Quentin can’t explain it, but he assumes it has something to do with his weird in-between existence. Maybe some stupid energy field or something. He’s not sure.</p>
<p>But regardless, Danny seems intrigued by the photo he managed to snap of Quentin’s little staredown with the Dean. </p>
<p>The professor sits on a rolling chair in his office, his sneaker-clad feet propped up on his messy desk. He chews gum loudly as he sits across from Frank and Quentin with his camera in his hands. </p>
<p>“I just can’t get over the dramatic lighting in this image,” Danny remarks, turning his camera screen towards the two students, “Like, look at this!”</p>
<p>And Quentin has to admit: the photo really <em> is </em> good. Nea and Frank are off to the side, with the Dean and Quentin facing each other at the centre of the image. Quentin’s face is out of focus and almost completely monochrome, but the shadows surrounding the scene are almost pitch-black and form vague shapes not unlike tree branches, or veins. </p>
<p>“It’s good.” Quentin comments levelly, careful not to betray any of his hidden reservations. </p>
<p>Danny hums cheerily, spinning around a few times in his chair. “Isn’t it? It’s a shame about the distortion on your face, though. You had an absolutely <em> chilling </em>expression.”</p>
<p>Quentin swallows. </p>
<p>He knows there was a time when his face made normal expressions, but it’s been a couple years since then and these days, any emotions that show on his face are overshadowed with an eerie, otherworldly feel. His expressions now make people nervous. </p>
<p>“It...wasn’t that bad, was it?” he asks lamely.</p>
<p>Danny giggles like a schoolgirl. “It was absolutely unnerving, my boy! It was incredible!”</p>
<p>Frank coughs awkwardly. “Can I go? I have shit to do today, and I don’t wanna miss it.”</p>
<p>Danny’s grin fades into a knowing smirk. “You had a whole day put aside to clean graffiti you made, and that means you have no other plans. Don’t lie to me, Morrison.”</p>
<p>“R-right…sorry…” Frank apologizes.</p>
<p>“However,” Danny continues, “You two may leave if you like. On one condition.”</p>
<p>Quentin blinks slowly. “What condition is tha-”</p>
<p>
  <em> Click. </em>
</p>
<p>A camera flashes in Quentin’s face, catching him by complete surprise and making him jump back in alarm. Eyes sparking with the afterimage of the flash, he hisses, “You-!”</p>
<p>“Aw, still blurry. Thought I had a perfect shot there.” Danny sighs forlornly. “Anyways, you two can leave!”</p>
<p><em> This fucking guy, </em>Quentin thinks sourly to himself as he follows Frank out of the office.</p>
<p>After the door closes, the pair stand quietly in the hall just outside. Neither of them look at each other directly, and none of them say anything for a very long time. But finally, Frank breaks the silence.</p>
<p>“Look, I don’t wanna pry too much,” he says slowly, as though he’s walking on eggshells, “but you’re a lot stranger than I thought at first, and I’d kinda like an explanation of a few things.”</p>
<p>Quentin looks at Frank slowly, eyes narrowed and expression guarded. “What things?”</p>
<p>Running a hand through his hair, Frank lists off several things. “Well, your crazy healing speed for one. And all your symbols and shit, and what they do.”</p>
<p>Quentin inspects Frank’s face for a few moments. The air at the taller student’s side shimmers and ripples with a silver-blue mist. A heartbeat later, his Guardian appears.</p>
<p>For a short time, Quentin and the spirit hold one another’s gazes. Then, its icy voice rips through his head like a saw, leaving Quentin clenching his jaw in pain.</p>
<p><em> Do not reveal our existence. It is not for humans to know. </em>The spirit snarls.</p>
<p>“<em> Get out of my fucking head.” </em> Quentin hisses under his breath.</p>
<p>“What?” Frank says.</p>
<p>Quentin is quick to snap his head back upright and plaster on an indifferent expression in spite of the spirit’s energy seeming to dig into his brain. “Bathroom.”</p>
<p>Before Frank can say anything more, Quentin’s turned on his heel and is hurriedly making his way down the hall towards the restroom. Behind him, the spirit’s claws click on the linoleum as its voice still wraps around Quentin’s entire being.</p>
<p>
  <em> You are a coward.  </em>
</p>
<p>He throws open the bathroom door and waits for it to click shut behind him before he slams his hands down on the counter and snaps, “I understand you hate me, but do you <em> really </em>need to make me look fucking insane?”</p>
<p>The spirit stares at Quentin’s reflection in the mirror with its hollow, drawn-on eyes. </p>
<p>
  <em> I do not want you near my charge. You pose a threat. </em>
</p>
<p>“A threat of <em> what?” </em></p>
<p>
  <em> He is beginning to suspect that there is more than what he knows on the First Plane. You threaten the blissful ignorance of human beings, and by extension, the safety of those on the Second Plane. </em>
</p>
<p>Quentin turns on the tap to splash cold water on his face. “I don’t plan on revealing anything, don’t worry your spiteful little head. And while we’re discussing boundaries here, can I just say that I don’t appreciate spirits imprinting on my brain without permission. It’s rude and causes me an unnecessary amount of pain and stress.”</p>
<p>The spirit cocks its head, the smiling mask seeming to smile wider. </p>
<p>
  <em> Ah, but I do not care about what a boundary-dweller thinks. You are neither spirit nor human, neither here nor there. You belong nowhere, are wanted nowhere. You do not even have a Guardian of your own. You have no rights where spirits are concerned. Thus it is perfectly acceptable for me to do this. </em>
</p>
<p>At the spirit’s final sentence, Quentin feels the spirit’s energy snaking through his skin, into his veins and up his spine into his head. Icy claws dig into his brain, sinking ever deeper and radiating freezing agony through his skull. </p>
<p>There’s a tundra in his head, growing colder and colder with every passing second, threatening to consume him in its frigid wind-</p>
<p>
  <b>“Enough.”</b>
</p>
<p>His voice echoes through two Planes at once, shattering the spirit’s energy and forcing it away from him. The spirit snarls in equal parts anger and shock, its smile shifted into a grimace. Quentin, thoroughly exhausted from channeling his energy into his voice, coughs and leans back against the bathroom counter. Sweat rolls down his neck and face, and he trembles with effort. </p>
<p>
  <em> Insolent brat. </em>
</p>
<p>“I told you not to do that, jackass.” Quentin growls venomously. “Try it again, and I’ll do something unforgivable.”</p>
<p>
  <em> You know not what forces you are dealing with. </em>
</p>
<p>“And you don’t know the extent of what I’ll do if you manage to piss me off enough. Nancy and I killed the dream demon when I was fully human. It won’t be that hard to do the same to a spirit now.” </p>
<p>The spirit lashes its tail. </p>
<p>
  <em> Let me just say this, boundary-dweller: keep your distance from my charge, or I may just kill you and get it over with. </em>
</p>
<p>Quentin barks out a harsh, humourless laugh. “Freddy Krueger couldn’t kill me. You definitely can’t.”</p>
<p>But the spirit vanishes before Quentin can finish speaking, leaving the young man alone in the bathroom. He merely stands there in silence for a few moments, contemplating what it was that just happened, before turning to face the mirror again and leaning forward on his elbows. He lets out a shaky breath. </p>
<p>Why can’t things just go back to the way they used to be?</p>
<p>Quentin doesn’t know. All he knows is that this day can’t possibly get worse.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is like the only fic I've ever written that has a solid plot and outline so I hope it all seems coherent and properly paced haha</p>
<p>Also I'm sorry if the next chapter takes a little while to come out, I'm moving this week!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. undimensioned and to us unseen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry again for the long wait! Here's an extra long chapter for you guys, thanks for your patience!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Quentin stares blankly at the pink paper taped to his apartment door.</p>
<p>
  <b> <em>EVICTED.</em> </b>
</p>
<p>He reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose with a world-weary sigh. He knew it was coming, since he can’t hold down a job with his spirit-seeing weirdness, but it still sucks. And despite his dad offering him a place to stay if he ever gets evicted, Quentin would rather never go back to Springwood again. </p>
<p>Unlocking his door, he starts considering what in God’s name he should do. </p>
<p>He’d probably fit right in with the homeless crowd since he’s used to dealing with things on his own, but Quentin quite likes having a place to call home, so he’ll avoid homelessness if he can. With a groan, he closes the door behind him and leans back against it.</p>
<p>“I just can’t catch a break, can I?”</p>
<p>And as if summoned by his words, a familiar aura blankets the room.</p>
<p>"<em>You are distressed, boundary-dweller."</em></p>
<p>Quentin tilts his head over to look at the unwanted visitor, and sees Julie’s ringed spirit hovering in the middle of the main room. Its golden flame casts a warm, comforting glow on the room, and its calming aura makes Quentin feel slightly more at ease. </p>
<p>With a snort, Quentin smirks ruefully at it. “You could say that.”</p>
<p>"<em>Your landlord is evicting you from this home?"</em></p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>The spirit seems to ponder something for a moment before speaking again.</p>
<p>"<em>Would your friend allow you refuge in his home?"</em></p>
<p>“What friend?” Quentin asks.</p>
<p>"<em>Frank."</em></p>
<p>Quentin immediately shakes his head. “No, no, no. Just- no. I can’t stay in that house.”</p>
<p>"<em>You fear the Masked spirit."</em></p>
<p>“I don’t-” Quentin breaks off to laugh humorlessly, dragging his hands through his hair, “-I don’t <em> fear </em> him, he just likes to torment me. getting in my head, saying freaky shit, you know? He said he’d leave me alone if I left Frank alone, so I’m gonna stay away from him.”</p>
<p>"<em>I can negotiate some terms."</em></p>
<p>“Thanks, but no thanks.”</p>
<p>"<em>You cannot simply wander the streets as a nomad. The Entity will find you."</em></p>
<p>“I’m aware,” Quentin sighs, “but that should come as a happy surprise for you and every other godforsaken spirit on the Second Plane.”</p>
<p>"<em>You helped my charge. I am indebted to you."</em></p>
<p>Running his hands through his hair again, Quentin makes his way into the kitchen and opens the fridge. As he rummages through it for something to eat, he replies, “Forget it. If the Entity gets me, the Entity gets me. I’ll vanish into the Third Plane for good, never to be seen again. Sounds like a win for you.”</p>
<p>The spirit forces itself between Quentin and the fridge, effectively shoving him away while also slamming the fridge door shut.</p>
<p>"<em>Do you truly value yourself so little?"</em></p>
<p>Quentin doesn’t have a reply for that. Probably because the answer is yes.</p>
<p>"<em>Your life has value, young one. You live selflessly, and your soul is kind."</em></p>
<p>“I appreciate the compliments, but I’m honestly not as nice as you seem to think.” Quentin laughs, opening the fridge again and grabbing a yogurt cup. </p>
<p>"<em>I am being honest when I say you are welcome in my human’s home. The four human inhabitants like you well enough, and I am certain that with time, their Guardians would be happy enough to have you around."</em></p>
<p>“I sincerely doubt that.”</p>
<p>The spirit watches as Quentin opens his yogurt and starts shoveling it into his mouth. </p>
<p>"<em>So then what is your plan of action?"</em></p>
<p>Quentin shrugs. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. But for now I guess I’ll just loiter around and hope I find someone who’ll rent out a room to some broke loser like me.” He takes a moment to think. “Also, weren’t you scared of me or something the other night?”</p>
<p>With a sigh, the spirit replies.</p>
<p>"<em>I was apprehensive, initially. But if you had wished any harm on me or my charge, you would have done so already. Thus, you now have my trust."</em></p>
<p>“That seems kinda stupid, changing your mind so quickly.”</p>
<p>"<em>Perhaps. But I am willing to trust you and give you the benefit of the doubt."</em></p>
<p>In spite of his skepticism, Quentin can’t help but feel somewhat happy that finally, <em> finally, </em>a spirit seems to trust and respect him. To treat him as a friend, or an equal. </p>
<p>The ringed spirit sees him as a human, not a demon.</p>
<p>Okay. He might as well introduce himself formally, then.</p>
<p>Placing his yogurt cup on the counter, he does something he hasn’t done since he first started seeing spirits. He makes a quick, rotating gesture with his right hand before tapping his index finger to his forehead. A polite greeting among spirits.</p>
<p>“My name is Quentin Smith. What can I call you?”</p>
<p>"<em>I have long since forgotten my original name, but you may call me Rasiel."</em></p>
<p>Quentin nods. “Nice to finally have a name for you.”</p>
<p>"<em>And I was aware of yours, but it is impolite to use a spirit’s name unless it is given, so I did not use it. Even if you are not a true spirit, you seem to abide by our customs."</em></p>
<p>“I try my best not to piss off spirits, so your customs have kinda become second nature for me,” Quentin replies, “side note, why aren’t you with Julie?”</p>
<p>Rasiel blinks their many eyes. "<em>She is in her home with three other Guardian spirits near her. While the Masked One will likely not protect her in my absence, the other two will. Also, it is...entertaining to speak with you, boundary-dweller. I wished to speak with you again and check on you."</em></p>
<p>Quentin finishes his yogurt and tosses his spoon in the sink with a clatter. As he does, he tests his ankle by putting more weight on it. It sparks with a dull ache, and he winces. </p>
<p>“My ankle is doing better, since I heal crazy fast, but it’ll be another day or two before it’s back to normal.”</p>
<p>"<em>I see," </em>Rasiel hums, "<em>That is good. But you are still in need of a place to live."</em></p>
<p>With a groan, Quentin runs his hands through his wavy hair and moves to the living room, Rasiel in tow. He mutters, “I know. I know, I’ll figure something out.”</p>
<p>Quentin casts a glance outside at the rapidly-darkening sky. His mind whirs with thoughts and ideas, none of which provide any solutions to his current problems, and he heaves an exhausted sigh.</p>
<p>“Hey, Rasiel?”</p>
<p>"<em>Yes, Quentin?"</em></p>
<p>For a moment, he considers not speaking at all. But at the thought of staying cooped up in this apartment with nothing to do, Quentin changes his mind.</p>
<p>“Mind coming with me to McDonald’s? I could really go for something cheap and deep-fried.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>It’s about 10pm when Frank makes the executive decision to take his friends out for a burger.</p>
<p>It’s been a long day, Quentin is still on his mind, and Frank needs something to distract himself from all the weirdness of the past few days. And what better thing is there for it than going out for fast food with your closest friends? At least, that’s what Frank is hoping.</p>
<p>What he doesn’t expect to see upon entering the closest McDonald’s, is Quentin passed out facedown in a corner booth. </p>
<p>For a few seconds, Frank merely takes in the sight of Quentin’s messy hair spread out on the tabletop around his head like some kind of disheveled halo, and the sound of muffled snoring. There’s a tray next to him with an empty McNuggets box on it, as well as a burger wrapper and a hardly-touched order of fries. </p>
<p>Joey, Julie, and Susie notice him next. </p>
<p>“What the hell is he doing?” Joey remarks confusedly.</p>
<p>Julie shrugs. “Guy must’ve gotten tired while doing...whatever it is he does.”</p>
<p>Frank jumps when an elbow jabs him in the ribs. He glances down to see Susie looking up at him with a smirk.  “Go scare him.”</p>
<p>“Why?” Frank asks.</p>
<p>She shrugs. “I dunno, I wanna see what he does.”</p>
<p>Frank shakes his head, “N-no, no, I’m not gonna scare the guy, have you seen how jumpy he is? He’ll shoot through the ceiling.”</p>
<p>“It’d be funny, though!” Susie insists, and Frank simply waves her off.</p>
<p>“Just...take my wallet and order yourselves something. I’ll grab some food myself in a bit.” he says, handing her his wallet and making his way across the restaurant towards Quentin.</p>
<p>Nobody calls after him, which is good. He’s not sure he’d be able to explain why he wants to start another conversation with Quentin if someone asked him. Mostly because his fascination with Quentin can be misconstrued as admiration, and Frank doesn’t like the connotations that might carry.</p>
<p>He stops beside the table Quentin sleeps on and pauses to see if his presence somehow wakes the guy up. But of course, it doesn’t do anything. So instead, he clears his throat and raps his knuckles on the tabletop.</p>
<p>“Rise and shine, man.” </p>
<p>With a groan, Quentin raises his head and fixates groggy eyes on Frank. It takes a moment for him to wake up enough to recognize Frank, but when he finally does, his grey-blue eyes go wide. “Oh, shit.”</p>
<p>Frank snorts. “Why’re you sleeping here, instead of at home?”</p>
<p>Quentin lets out a loud groan, resting his cheek on the table again as his eyes drift briefly to the air at Frank’s side. “Haven’t you heard? McDonald’s tables are comfier than any stupid bed.”</p>
<p>“Funny.”</p>
<p>“I’m hysterical, I know. I must’ve been a comedian in a past life.” The enigmatic young man says flatly with a smirk.</p>
<p>Frank reaches up to pinch at the bridge of his nose, then sits down across from Quentin. He fixes Quentin with a serious look. “But seriously, why are you sleeping here? Nothing’s wrong, is it?”</p>
<p>“Nothing you should worry about.” Quentin replies, his eyes once again flicking warily to the empty air at Frank’s side.</p>
<p>“Well, I <em> am </em> worrying. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s not exactly <em> normal </em> for people to sleep in a fast food joint.”</p>
<p>Quentin sits up, folding his arms in front of him and resting his weight on them. With tired, knowing eyes, he smiles and says, “And in case <em> you </em> haven’t noticed, I’m not quite normal myself.”</p>
<p>“Cut the shit.” Frank snaps, which seems to startle Quentin out of his cocky act. “Why are you really here?”</p>
<p>For a time, Quentin holds Frank’s gaze with an unreadable expression. But it isn’t easy to hold Frank’s steely grey eyes for long, as many people have learned, and Quentin eventually breaks eye contact and submits. He awkwardly adjusts his grey beanie with a grumble of, “Okay, fine, I got evicted. That’s why I’m here: to ignore the fact that I’m being evicted.”</p>
<p>Frank’s hard glare turns into a look of startled sympathy. “You were <em> evicted?” </em></p>
<p>Quentin barks out a harsh, humourless laugh. “No big surprise there, since I can’t hold down a job. But hey, I won’t have to pay rent or anything when I’m homeless. And I likely won’t last very long, which will be a fucking relief.”</p>
<p>“A relief for <em> who, </em>exactly?!” </p>
<p>“Me, mostly.” Quentin chirps in a cheerful tone. “But everyone else I know, as well.”</p>
<p>Frank doesn’t like the way Quentin talks about himself.</p>
<p>So, being the soppy bleeding heart he is, Frank runs a bandaged hand through his hair and takes a breath. When he’s gathered his thoughts, he drums his fingertips on the tabletop and murmurs, “Well...we have an extra room if you wa-”</p>
<p>“Thanks, but no thanks.” Quentin interrupts brusquely, taking Frank by surprise.</p>
<p>Frank blinks owlishly. “But you’ll be homeless otherwise.”</p>
<p>“True. But I promise you, there are forces out there that will stop at nothing to make my life hell if I move in with you.”</p>
<p>“Did one of my friends say something to you?” Frank prods urgently, hoping to whatever God exists that Joey, Julie, and Susie haven’t threatened Quentin.</p>
<p>Quentin picks at his nails uncomfortably. “No, no, nothing like that…”</p>
<p>“Has someone else threatened you?”</p>
<p>“You could say so, but it’s nobody you’ve met, I promise you that.”</p>
<p>Quentin is hyperfocused on picking at his nails, giving Frank the idea that maybe the strange young man is getting uncomfortable with this line of questioning. So Frank takes a breath and drums his fingertips on the table. “Okay. I won’t keep buggin’ you about it since you don’t seem to wanna go into detail, but just...come spend a night and see what you think.”</p>
<p>“I already spent a night,” Quentin shoots back with another glance at the air to Frank’s right, “and those forces I mentioned two seconds ago were not pleased with my presence at all.”</p>
<p>Tired of the vagueness of Quentin’s explanations, Frank also turns to look at where Quentin is staring. Of course, he sees nothing there...but maybe there’s something there that only Quentin can see.</p>
<p>Maybe his enigmatic nature is part of something greater.</p>
<p>When Frank looks back at Quentin, those grey-blue eyes are as closed-off as steel doors. His brow is furrowed harshly, his shoulders tense. </p>
<p>Frank leans forward, eyes narrowed. “Is there something I should know about?”</p>
<p>The shadows at the corners of Frank’s vision ripple like water. The air grows stifling.</p>
<p>“Don’t ask questions you aren’t prepared to know the answers to.” Quentin says icily, fingertips white and face pale.</p>
<p>Something dangerous glitters in his gaze.</p>
<p>“Then prove to me that you haven’t got anything to hide.” Frank declares cockily. “Spend a night at my place. If you do, I won’t bug you again and you can fuck off into the sunset like some creepy-ass 21st century cowboy. But if you want to stay, my friends and I can help you move. How’s that sound?”</p>
<p>For a time, Quentin looks positively baffled by Frank’s proposition. He doesn’t look at the air beside Frank again, his attention solely focused on the Legion’s frontman. Then, Quentin snorts and chuckles quietly to himself. </p>
<p>“You know what? Sure. If I die, it’s your fault.”</p>
<p>Frank doesn’t think about that last bit too much. He doesn’t really want to. So instead, he bares his teeth in a grin and rises to his feet. Quentin does the same.</p>
<p>With a laugh, Frank throws an arm around Quentin’s shoulder. “C’mon, loser, let’s get you some more fries.”</p>
<p>Quentin looks like he wants to argue, but seems to resign himself to being dragged around by his new companion. That’s fine with Frank. As long as Quentin isn’t subjecting himself to shitty living conditions, Frank is content.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Quentin is <em> not </em> happy to be standing in front of Frank’s house again. </p>
<p>He’d hoped that the whole hallway ordeal with the masked jackal spirit would’ve been the last of his interactions with Frank, but evidently, life just <em> loves </em> throwing Quentin under the bus. So here he is, waiting for Frank to unlock the front door, with the Legion at his back, a quiet spectre at his right, and a very, very angry spirit to his left.</p>
<p>"<em>I should kill you right now," </em>the jackal snarls. </p>
<p>"<em>Touch him and I will kill <strong>you,"</strong></em> Rasiel snaps in response.</p>
<p>Quentin doesn’t flinch, pretending like usual to be normal.</p>
<p>So, he focuses on the calm aura of Rasiel, drifting softly at Julie’s shoulder. It’s easier to focus on the gentle pulsing of a warm, friendly aura than the raging wildfire of energy that ripples off of the jackal. And the more he focuses on it, the less anxiety he feels, and the less anxiety he feels, the easier it is for Quentin to pretend nothing is wrong.</p>
<p>The door opens, and Quentin is immediately made aware of the presence of two other spirits by their overwhelming auras inside the house. He takes a deep breath, holds it, then lets it out slowly to calm his nerves. It feels like he’s walking into a death trap.</p>
<p>Frank invites Quentin in, and he reluctantly does so, with the Legion following close behind. They joke and chatter amongst one another without a care in the world, oblivious to the invisible war being waged between the masked spirit, Rasiel, and Quentin’s own anxiety. </p>
<p>As Quentin pulls off his shoes, the jackal makes its first move. </p>
<p>In the middle of removing his shoes, Quentin is nudged off-balance by the jackal and has to catch himself awkwardly on his hands. He shoots a scathing glare at the jackal.</p>
<p>“Jesus dude, you okay?” Frank asks, confused.</p>
<p>Quentin quickly kicks his shoes off and regains his composure. “I’m fine. Just lost my balance.”</p>
<p>Frank, thankfully, doesn’t push the issue further than that. Instead, he gestures for Quentin to follow him up the stairs. </p>
<p>As Frank’s three friends make their way to the living room, Quentin and the Legion’s frontman ascend the stairs and turn down a hallway lined with rooms. Most of the doors aren’t particularly special or unique, and Quentin doesn’t have a hard time focusing on Frank. </p>
<p>The jackal’s serpentine tail hisses, making Quentin jump.</p>
<p>Frank, unfortunately, notices.</p>
<p>He stops, running a hand through his messy brown hair. With a sigh, he asks, “Seriously, you can tell me if something’s wrong, y’know. I know I have a shitty rep, but I’m not soulless.”</p>
<p>“I know you’re not soulless. I have personally seen soulless beings,” Quentin shoots a glare at the jackal with the second sentence, “and I know you’re not one of them. I just have...issues...that you can’t help me with.”</p>
<p>“Is it about the Springwood murders? You survived those, right?”</p>
<p>Quentin narrows his eyes, growing tense. Frank is delving into territory that Quentin would rather not dredge up again. “I don’t want to talk about it.”</p>
<p>Frank raises his hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, I understand. I won’t bug you about it. Not yet, anyways.”</p>
<p>“I’d rather you never bug me about it.”</p>
<p>“Wait until I seduce you with my charisma and rugged good looks. You’ll want to tell me everything then.” Frank teases with a mischievous grin.</p>
<p>Quentin’s mouth quirks in an odd little smile. “You couldn’t seduce shit.”</p>
<p>“Oh, we’ll see about that.”</p>
<p>Just when Quentin’s starting to think that perhaps this whole weird friendship with Frank wouldn’t be so bad, there’s a low growl behind him. Quentin barely has time to brace himself before the jackal’s icy aura forces its way through his mind’s defenses and starts stabbing into his head. He recoils, hissing through his teeth as he staggers backwards. </p>
<p>There’s a high pitched ringing in his ears, followed by an abrupt pop, and Quentin’s eyes fly wide open. </p>
<p>He hears three planes all at once, every aura of everything on all three planes assaulting his senses at the same time. And over it all, he hears the singing of the planes themselves. They call to him, ripping through his mind and lowering his inhibitions, threatening to overwhelm and consume him, leaving him nothing more than an empty husk through which spirits can interact with the first plane-</p>
<p>But there’s  something different about this mental attack compared to yesterday’s. The earlier attack felt brash and impulsive. This feels cold and calculated. And that’s when Quentin realizes it…</p>
<p>...the jackal is trying to hijack his mind.</p>
<p>Its aura pokes and prods at his defenses, trying to worm its way into his consciousness and enticing him with the song of the universe itself. With every wave of movement, it tries dragging his mind to a place where the spirit would be able to overtake and possess him fully. It feels almost clinical, the way it moves and flows, and he can feel the jackal’s joy at the pain it’s causing. </p>
<p>Distantly, Quentin feels hands on his shoulders and hears a muffled voice, but he can’t linger on it.</p>
<p>He’s too busy focusing on the pain, pain, pain, infection, intrusion, pain, <em> intrusion, intrusion, infection- </em></p>
<p>There’s the sound of bangles jingling as they clank against one another, and a trilling song almost like windchimes. And then, as quickly as the attack on Quentin’s mind started...it fades away. </p>
<p>He comes back to himself slowly, finding his eyes sticky with what seem to be tears, and noticing that he’s now seated haphazardly on the floor with his back to the wall. Frank is kneeling in front of him with concern written in his face, and his scarred, bandaged hands on Quentin’s shoulders. Frank says something, but the ringing in Quentin’s ears, and the lingering tones of the universe’s tempting song is too much for him to hear what the taller man is saying. So instead, he looks to his right.</p>
<p>Standing between him and the jackal is a spirit.</p>
<p>It’s a person draped in delicate silk robes, adorned with gold trim and crystalline flowers, but in place of their head is a ball of golden rings encircling a small flame. Dozens of eyes coat the rings, and Quentin is quick to realize that this spirit is Rasiel, in their true form. </p>
<p>With a voice as cold and threatening as a winter storm, Rasiel addresses the jackal, "<em>Harm the boundary-dweller again and I will personally erase you from existence."</em></p>
<p>The jackal paces back and forth, teeth bared. "<em>You are a disgrace to all spirits. Protecting a boundary-dweller is an abhorrent act."</em></p>
<p>Rasiel laughs, the sound almost identical to ringing bells. "<em>I have existed since before this planet came to be. I watched the sun’s birth. I have seen stars die, and comets circle galaxies. I watched civilizations rise and fall, have been entrusted with millions of charges, and have never lost one before their time was done on this plane. And in all the time I have lived, I have never seen a law made prohibiting or condemning the act of assisting a boundary-dweller in need."</em></p>
<p>The jackal seems to be struck speechless for a time. But of course, it’s quick to shoot back a retort. "<em>You disgust me, Ancient One."</em></p>
<p>Rasiel laughs again.</p>
<p>"<em>Do not criticize my actions when you yourself are a lackluster guardian at best."</em></p>
<p>The jackal recoils, very obviously taking offense at Rasiel’s words. But Rasiel seems to have won the argument, because the jackal shoots one last look at Quentin before snarling and dissolving into a thin smoke. </p>
<p>The scars on Quentin’s chest <em> ache. </em></p>
<p>He glances back at Frank, who looks both relieved and perplexed. </p>
<p>“Did you hear me?” Frank asks, and by his tone, Quentin can deduce that this isn’t the first time he’s asked.</p>
<p>Quentin blinks owlishly. “No. Sorry.”</p>
<p>Frank heaves a sigh. “I said, are you okay now?”</p>
<p>“Oh. Yeah, I’m fine.”</p>
<p>“What <em> was </em> that? Was that epilepsy or something?” </p>
<p>Quentin snorts. “No, I don’t have epilepsy. I just have...weird headaches that come and go. Real nasty stuff.”</p>
<p>“I can tell…” Frank says, very obviously unconvinced, “...but you’re okay now? It’s not gonna happen again?”</p>
<p>With a quick glance at Rasiel, who’s already returned to their previous form, Quentin replies, “It shouldn’t. If it does, though, it’ll probably be over much faster.”</p>
<p>“<em> Christ, </em>man. Don’t they give you meds for that?” Frank remarks.</p>
<p>Quentin smirks. “Can’t medicate something that science can’t explain.”</p>
<p>Frank rises to his feet with a confused look on his face before offering Quentin a hand up. Quentin takes it gingerly, hesitating a moment before letting Frank pull him up. As he stands, however, Quentin’s head swims, and he wobbles on his feet. Thankfully, Frank steadies him.</p>
<p>“Whoa, easy there, man.” Frank says. “You’re really pale and shaky. You sure you’re okay?”</p>
<p>Quentin shrugs with a self-deprecating laugh. “Am I ever okay? That question has yet to be answered.”</p>
<p>Frank holds Quentin’s gaze for a time before shifting to loop an arm around Quentin’s shoulders, more effectively supporting the shorter student. At the contact, Quentin tenses, but doesn’t say anything. He’s said enough this evening.</p>
<p>With a suppressed hiss through his teeth, Quentin uses his free hand to rub at the raised, claw-like scars concealed by his shirt. They feel hot to the touch, and rubbing at them only minimally reduces the pain. </p>
<p>As they make their way awkwardly down the hall, Frank notices. With a concerned glance, he asks, “What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>Quentin considers lying, or saying it’s nothing important...but he’s just <em> tired. </em>Tired of this spirit bullshit, tired of pretending he’s normal, tired of lying. So he heaves a sigh and mutters, “I have nasty scars. From the Springwood Murders. They bother me sometimes.”</p>
<p>“Wait, you were actually <em> attacked </em> by the killer?” Frank splutters incredulously.</p>
<p>Quentin shrugs. “Yeah. But that’s all I’m saying on the subject. It’s not something I like to remember.”</p>
<p>“That’s fair,” Frank sighs, pushing open a door near the end of the hallway, “but just know that we’re here for you if you need to vent or whatever.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, but I’d rather not.”</p>
<p>“Give it time. We’ll see how you feel once you get attached to us.” Frank teases with a mischievous grin.</p>
<p>Quentin can’t help but return it with a brief smile of his own. “I guess I can give you idiots a chance.”</p>
<p>“Hell yeah.” </p>
<p>With the tension successfully dissolved, Frank flicks on the light in the room he opened and gestures around at the barren little room. “So if you moved in, this would be your room. Comes with the bed and dresser you see already.”</p>
<p>Quentin squints around at the room, his eyes still blurred with exhaustion from the mental attack he’d experienced. He rubs at them ruefully and takes in his surroundings. </p>
<p>The room is a decent size, with pale blue-grey walls, a double bed, and a dresser along one wall. A large window faces the back alley, and a large closet takes up most of the wall to Quentin’s left. All in all, it’s a nice room. A room Quentin would be happy with...</p>
<p>...if he weren’t so put off by the spirits inhabiting the house.</p>
<p>Quentin rubs at his eyes with a heavy sigh, shakily removing himself from Frank’s grasp and standing on his own. “Look. You’re a nice person and all, but I can’t stay here. I can’t really say why, but it’s nobody’s fault.”</p>
<p>“You haven’t even spent another night, y’know,” Frank hums with a sly smirk, “give it time. We’ll see how you feel in the morning.”</p>
<p>“I know what my answer will be, and the answer is no.”</p>
<p>“We’ll see about that.” Frank says in an almost singsong tone, nudging Quentin with his shoulder.</p>
<p>Quentin merely glances at Frank with narrowed eyes. “I’m not going to change my mind.”</p>
<p>“Okay, sure, uh huh. Let’s get you set up on the couch again. You need the rest.”</p>
<p>Quentin doesn’t have the energy to keep the argument going, so he reluctantly resigns himself to following Frank slowly down the hall and back downstairs. Setting up the couch doesn’t take long after that, especially not with the other three Legion members helping out.</p>
<p>About ten minutes later, Frank and Quentin are the only two people left downstairs, seated across from one another on the couch. </p>
<p>They remain in companionable silence for a time before Frank asks, “How’s your ankle, by the way?”</p>
<p>Quentin glances down, shifting his previously-injured foot and noting the slight soreness he feels. “It’s still kinda sore, but I’ll be fine. I’ve always healed ridiculously fast.”</p>
<p>“I noticed,” Frank remarks, with a slightly hidden tone that Quentin isn’t sure he should be wary of, “but make sure you take it easy.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. I know.”</p>
<p>The silence between them drags on long enough to be awkward, and that’s when Frank rises to his feet and stretches. He yawns loudly. </p>
<p>“Well, I’m off to bed. If you need anything, just help yourself to whatever. Just don’t touch the barbecue chips in the pantry. Julie will actually kill you if you eat her chips. Trust me.” Frank says with an awkward laugh.</p>
<p>Quentin blinks. “So you’re saying I should eat them and say it was you?”</p>
<p>“Ha ha, very funny,” Frank groans with a roll of his eyes, “blame me and I’ll kill <em> you.” </em></p>
<p>“Bold of you to assume I can die.”</p>
<p>With a laugh, Frank flips Quentin off. Then when Quentin returns the gesture, Frank mouths the words ‘fuck you’ and heads upstairs, grinning. And Quentin can’t help but smile as well. Frank is just one hell of an interesting and entertaining individual.</p>
<p>But the moment Quentin hears Frank’s bedroom door close upstairs, his smile fades and his expression closes off once more. </p>
<p>The corner lamp flickers on and off rapidly. </p>
<p>Shadows dance at the edges of Quentin’s vision.</p>
<p>The TV shuts off.</p>
<p>Quentin takes a breath, strengthening his resolve and throwing up defensive barriers around his mind. He’s not sure he’d be able to successfully win a mental confrontation without heavy defenses, not after that intense assault by the jackal.</p>
<p>"<em>You are the boundary-dweller. How curious."</em></p>
<p>An aura like a midnight in summer presses inquisitively against Quentin’s own aura, bringing with it the mental image of patchwork quilts and strawberries. The vaguest scent of flowers wafts through the air.</p>
<p>A shadowy spirit draped in a multicoloured patchwork coat materializes from the shadows themselves, two glowing pink eyes peering out from beneath the hood over its head. Flowers grow from the seams in its coat, and the smell of fresh strawberries is almost mouthwatering. Quentin meets its eyes levelly.</p>
<p>The spirit cocks its head, not unlike a curious dog. In a feminine voice, it murmurs, "<em> I am Falfir, and Susie is my charge. I wish you no harm. I am here as a friend." </em></p>
<p>Quentin blinks owlishly. It’s exceedingly rare for a spirit to give out its name during a first meeting, seeing as names hold so much power over every spirit, and the fact that Falfir is giving her name so freely means that she truly doesn’t wish Quentin any harm. He lets out a slow breath.</p>
<p>“And I’m Quentin Smith. It’s an honor to meet you, Falfir.” Quentin replies somewhat awkwardly as he gives Falfir the same greeting gesture he gave Rasiel earlier that night. “But I’ve gotta ask...why are being friendly with me? I’m not particularly well-liked, if it wasn’t obvious.”</p>
<p>Falfir glides across the floor to face Quentin more closely. "<em> I witnessed you put yourself in harm’s way in order to save Rasiel’s charge from those jinxes. Julie is a very close friend of my charge, and I am also quite fond of her. Your selflessness is admirable." </em></p>
<p>Before Quentin can reply, a deeper voice resonates in his head, fondness in its tone, "<em>We have never been particularly judgemental, boundary-dweller. You are also a guest in this house, and as such, we will show you genuine hospitality."<br/></em></p>
<p>Quentin snaps his head towards a flicker of movement on his right. </p>
<p>A massive white and red tiger with the legs of a bird forms out of moonlight and floating dust, bringing with it the warmth of a crackling fire and the scent of embers. Its ancient eyes meet Quentin’s with something akin to admiration in their brilliant blue depths, its flame-wreathed face soft. And strapped to its towering shoulders is a round, bladed weapon. </p>
<p>"<em>I am Rimmentu. Joey is my charge."</em></p>
<p>With a flicker of unease, Quentin gives Rimmentu a welcoming gesture and levelly murmurs, “I see. It’s nice to meet you.”</p>
<p>The tiger chuckles, the sound not unlike a deep rumbling purr. </p>
<p>"<em>You are right to be apprehensive in our presence, but I promise you, Rasiel, Falfir and myself wish you no harm. You are welcome here."</em></p>
<p>With a humorless snicker, Quentin replies, “The jackal would beg to differ.”</p>
<p>"<em>Izzan has never been agreeable, and perhaps he never will be. He is abrasive and hardly cares for his own charge’s safety, instead preferring to dredge up conflict with spirits and their charges alike. He is likely the reason this home has such a frequent issue with jinxes."</em></p>
<p>“So Izzan isn’t just an ass to me, then.”</p>
<p>Rimmentu and Falfir share a quiet laugh.</p>
<p>"<em>No, he is, as you say, an “ass” to spirits as well. Frank is his first charge, and he is a young spirit. He should hopefully mellow out with time, but Rasiel, Falfir and I are quite anxious as to what effect his confrontational disposition will continue to have on Frank."<br/></em></p>
<p>Rimmentu pauses to heave a weary sigh. Falfir continues to add onto his lament, "<em>Izzan has not been as attentive to Frank as he should have been. There are instances in Frank’s past that we have learned from Frank’s own mumblings and night terrors that are...horrendous. Instances that Izzan could have prevented or helped Frank through."</em></p>
<p>Quentin’s face hardens. He leans forward from his spot on the couch, fingers pressing into his thighs. “What kind of instances?”</p>
<p>Rimmentu and Falfir exchange an anxious glance before turning their attention back to Quentin. Rimmentu kneads the carpet uncomfortably with his talons.</p>
<p>"<em>That is not our information to disclose," </em>Falfir murmurs.</p>
<p>For a moment, Quentin considers arguing, saying that he has as much right to know as any spirit. But when he thinks about his own past, his own secrets he’d rather keep bottled up, he lets go of his urge to argue. He lets out a slow breath. </p>
<p>“Okay. That’s fair, and I’m sorry for being nosy,” he apologizes, slumping back against the couch, “can’t really help it.”</p>
<p>"<em>Your apology is accepted,"</em> Falfir chirrups,<em> "But on a separate note, you should probably get some rest. Your aura is frantic and weak from Izzan’s assault. You need sleep to restore your strength, young one."<br/></em></p>
<p>And while the genuine concern from spirits is something new and welcome to Quentin, he can’t shake the feeling of unease that comes from being in Izzan’s vicinity. With a self-deprecating smile, Quentin laughs, “It’s rare that I actually sleep. Insomnia, you know? I’ll probably just stay up.”</p>
<p>Rimmentu sits back on his haunches, curling his tail around his birdlike talons. "<em> You are nervous about Izzan." </em></p>
<p>“I’m not-no, he doesn’t freak me out or anything, I just...look, I’m on Zoneral for my ADHD, that shit keeps me up all the time. I’m not bothered by Izzan.” Quentin stammers in a completely unconvincing tone. </p>
<p>With a rumbling chuckle, Rimmentu replies, "<em> We will ensure Izzan does not attack you in your sleep." </em></p>
<p>“I said, I’m not bothered by-”</p>
<p>Quentin’s words die in his throat as Falfir's comforting, summer-like aura blankets the room. The soft, fragrant scent of lavender hits Quentin, and for some reason, it’s hard to keep his eyes open. And despite how Quentin fights off the urge to sleep, the aura continues washing over him warmly, like gentle waves on a sandy beach. With a groan, Quentin drags a hand down his face.</p>
<p>“You’re...fuckin...you’re doing something with your aura.” he slurs, exhaustion making it harder to stay awake.</p>
<p>"<em>I apologize, but you require rest."</em></p>
<p>And as much as Quentin wants to fight back, to demand Falfir back the hell off, he’s just so <em> tired. </em>Tired of spirits treating him like shit, tired of fighting off mental and physical attacks, tired of resisting. So for once, he gives in. He shifts to lie down on the couch, and the moment he closes his eyes, he drifts into sleep.</p>
<hr/>
<p>As Quentin slumbers peacefully on the couch, Rasiel faces the other two spirits present.</p>
<p>"<em>So, what do you two think of him? Are you willing to allow him refuge here?" </em>they ask levelly, watching Rimmentu and Falfir's reactions.</p>
<p>Rimmentu casts a brief glance at Quentin before shaking his snowy pelt and facing Rasiel again. "<em>The boy is polite and well-mannered. Perhaps I could get used to him being here."</em></p>
<p>"<em>His soul is damaged, but he is genuine and kind. I have no qualms about allowing him to live with our charges." </em>Falfir says with a soft fondness in her tone that makes Rasiel feel relieved.</p>
<p><em>"Izzan has repeatedly attacked him, so we will need to make a joint effort to protect him. I have grown attached to the boy, and I would be very angry if he was attacked again." </em>Rasiel continues with a stern look at both spirits.</p>
<p>Rimmentu lets out a chuffing laugh. "<em>I always jump at the opportunity to harass that spiteful little mutt. I will protect the boundary-dweller."</em></p>
<p>"<em>As will I."</em> Falfir murmurs.</p>
<p>A low snarl echoes around the room. <em>"You three are disgraceful."</em></p>
<p>Izzan prowls out of the shadows, head lowered and his tail lashing. Rasiel turns to put themself between Izzan and Quentin's sleeping form.</p>
<p><em>"You are the true disgrace here, brat," </em>Rimmentu growls, <em>"Respect your elders. Perform your duties as a guardian spirit and cease your assault on the boy."</em></p>
<p>Teeth bared, Izzan glares at Quentin. <em>"I told him I would kill him if he returned here."</em></p>
<p>"<em>That is not your decision to make. He deserves to be treated with the same dignity you would show a senior spirit." </em>Rasiel snaps.</p>
<p>"<em>He does not deserve it. He is an abomination."</em></p>
<p>The flowers growing from Falfir's coat begin to darken along with her mood. <em>"He did not choose to become what he is. A spirit did this to him."</em></p>
<p>"<em>I care not. He should not exist."</em></p>
<p>A thunderous snarl rips through the room, and Rasiel turns to glance at the source.</p>
<p>Rimmentu's white and red fur has shifted to black and green, his blue eyes flickering with miasmic blue flame. Massive fangs extend from his jaws, and his claws dig into the carpet. <em>"Leave now, or I will kill you myself."</em></p>
<p>Izzan lingers a few moments longer before snorting and striding arrogantly out of the room.</p>
<p><em>"You may have stooped to licking a boundary-dweller's feet, but I am above that. I will do with him what I see fit."</em> he snarls, moments before vanishing into a thin smoke.</p>
<p>Left alone once more, the three spirits calm themselves and lower their voices. Rimmentu returns to his relaxed form with a heavy sigh. <em>"I will never understand that brat."</em></p>
<p>"<em>Forget his grievances. They do not matter." </em>Rasiel says bluntly.</p>
<p>Falfir's flowers return to their usual bright pastels, and Rimmentu's hackles flatten. Falfir nods at Quentin. "<em>Shall we take turns acting as his own spirit guardians? It seems from all the damage to his soul that he does need a companion spirit."</em></p>
<p>Taking the hooded spirit's words in, Rasiel takes a better look at Quentin, gently brushing against his aura with their own. And just as Falfir had said, Rasiel discovers numerous blemishes, cracks, and weak spots in the boy's very soul. Rasiel's aura flares with alarm. <em>"How in all the planes has he received so much damage to his soul?"</em></p>
<p>"<em>It seems he truly has been treated poorly by the Second Plane." </em>Rimmentu comments, voice hard.</p>
<p>With a surge of protectiveness that Rasiel has only ever felt towards their charges, the ringed spirit drifts closer to the slumbering young man. They turn to face Rimmentu and Falfir. <em>"I will watch over him while he sleeps. I do not want Izzan to attack him."</em></p>
<p>"<em>Very well," </em>Rimmentu grunts, "<em>Should you require any assistance, do not hesitate to call on us."</em></p>
<p>Yet as the two spirits leave the room to return to their own charges, Rasiel silently refuses the offer. After all, what can Izzan, a young spirit, do against a spirit approaching godhood? Rasiel chuckles to themself.</p>
<p>Izzan would not last a single heartbeat in a battle with Rasiel.</p>
<p>Quentin is safe.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. the truth is stranger than my own worst dreams</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter took a LONG time to write since I couldn't figure out the pacing and shit but here it is! In it's full, 8,000+ word glory! </p><p>I'm going to go take a nap now. Hope you guys enjoy the chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Wakefulness comes back to Quentin in fragmented bits and pieces, bringing with it the wispy memories of whatever nightmare he had this time. Thankfully, he can’t remember the nightmare he had, but that’s only a minor relief. The rest of Quentin’s mind is preoccupied with the concern that Freddy might be getting into his head, even after the dream demon’s near-certain death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next thing Quentin grows aware of is the sweet smell of pancakes wafting through the air. With a deep breath, he groggily opens his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two grey eyes stare back at him from less than a foot away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unable to make out who it is, and still affected by the deep-seated paranoia sleep brings Quentin, the lanky young man lets out an undignified squawk and lashes out. His open palm connects with something, and that ‘something’ lets out an equally unflattering shriek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin scrambles up into a seated position to assess the damage, and sees Frank rolling on the floor, clutching his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus </span>
  <em>
    <span>Christ,</span>
  </em>
  <span> dude, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Frank groans, voice muffled by his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin blinks owlishly. “Maybe don’t get right up in my face as soon as I wake up. ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Frank sits up, rubbing his nose, he fixates Quentin with a somewhat concerned look and casts a glance at the kitchen before lowering his voice. “You were making noise and crying in your sleep. I was gonna wake you up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mortification sets in almost instantaneously, and Quentin stiffens. “I don’t fucking cry in my sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, it’s okay,” Frank says quietly, “it happens to all of us at some point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not to me. I don’t cry.” Quentin snaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank furrows his brow. Gesturing at Quentin’s face, he mutters, “The tears on your face say you’re full of shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In spite of himself, Quentin reaches up to check. And to his utter embarrassment, he feels a very obvious wetness on his cheeks. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, it’s fine. I’m the only one that saw. I won’t tell, since you seem uncomfortable with it.” Frank says in a hushed tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And somehow, Quentin feels a bit reassured by that. He hardly knows anything about Frank, yet he can trust that Frank is telling the truth. Hurriedly wiping at his face, Quentin mutters, “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem.” After a pause, Frank moves to sit on the couch beside Quentin. “Do you wanna talk abou-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>
    <em>No.</em>
  </b>
  <span>” Quentin hisses venomously with an icy glare at Frank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank raises his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Just lettin’ you know I’m here if you need to, I don’t know, vent or some shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, but I don’t need your pity.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not--why would it be </span>
  <em>
    <span>pity?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I just have a soul, man.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you have a soul, we’ve established this. I just don’t need you feeling fucking sorry for me.” Quentin expresses, running his fingers through his wavy hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank groans inwardly. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>impossible</span>
  </em>
  <span> to reason with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin opens his mouth to argue, but before he can, a familiar head of short blonde hair pokes out from around the entrance to the kitchen with a withering scowl. “Are you guys </span>
  <em>
    <span>done?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’d like it if these pancakes didn’t get wasted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank, without leaving Quentin any room to protest, grabs him by the shoulder of his brown t-shirt and pulls him to his feet. From there, Quentin is unceremoniously dragged into the dining room, where the mouthwatering scent of pancakes is even stronger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t bring himself to refuse breakfast when he sees the heap of pancakes at the centre of the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he and the four Legion members sit around the table scarfing down breakfast, Frank snickers and makes a comment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, Quin, it’s like you’ve never eaten a pancake in your life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin pauses to shoot an unimpressed look at Frank. “You act like you think I have a half-decent diet. Also, don’t call me that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Joey pipes up, gesturing at Quentin with his fork, “You don’t like having a nickname?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Susie adds, “I think ‘Quin’ is a pretty cute nickname!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s-” Quentin nearly chokes on his food and takes a moment to gather his thoughts, “-look, I just don’t do nicknames.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” Julie asks flatly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin stiffens, his mind flitting back to half-repressed memories of his late friends calling him that. “I just don’t like it. Brings back bad memories.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His discomfort level is rising. Quentin’s right leg begins bouncing rapidly up and down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Sorry about that, man. We didn’t realize…” Joey says gently with a sympathetic glance at Quentin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin can’t meet his companions’ eyes without his skin crawling, so he stares at their chins instead. When Frank speaks, Quentin’s eyes drift over the dark, jagged scar stretching from his right jawline to just below his right eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine.” Quentin says firmly. “If you find a different nickname, feel free to call me that.” He pauses before adding, “we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other from here on out, anyways. If you’ll still let me stay here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The four Legion members lean in closer, which makes Quentin stiffen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to stay?” Joey asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin shrugs. “Yeah. I guess Frank was onto something when he said he’d change my mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess that’s that, then. Quentin’s movin’ in!” Frank laughs boisterously, leaning in to throw an arm playfully around Quentin’s shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a feeling like ants on Quentin’s skin, followed by the burning chill of Izzan’s hostile aura, and Quentin braces himself for another mental attack. But it doesn’t come. All there is, is a cold, unwelcoming feeling from the masked jackal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin doesn’t look in the spirit’s direction, but he knows he’ll see its teeth bared in a vicious snarl. Face growing pale, Quentin forces a weak smile and says, “Guess so.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Fingers drumming rhythmically on the steering wheel, Frank drives his old pickup truck in the direction of Quentin’s old apartment. The young man in question sits stiffly in the passenger seat, cheek resting against the window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank has so many questions, and Quentin won’t answer any of them. From whatever the hell happened with his “attack” last night, to the weird symbols he draws so often, Quentin is just full of unnerving secrets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of his attack…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Quentin’s looked incredibly pale and weak since then. There’s a mild tremor in his hands and fingers, and the bags under his eyes are even darker than usual. Even after a full night of sleep, he doesn’t look rested at all. Frank supposes that maybe his lack of energy is due to whatever made him cry in his sleep. But there’s something else that’s bothering Frank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So-” he starts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What now?” Quentin sighs, tone weary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank lets out a slow breath. “Sorry if this offends you, but I just gotta know: have you got schizophrenia or something that causes hallucinations? I always see you looking at or talking to things that I can’t see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Schizophrenia...no, no, I don’t have that.” Quentin says slowly, turning his blue-grey eyes on Frank. “It’s something else, but it’s not important. Just my overactive imagination, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank turns into the parking lot outside Quentin’s apartment complex and comes to a stop. Turning off the ignition, he furrows his brow. “I don’t like it when people bullshit me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither do I, but that’s just something we both have to deal with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Quentin.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Frank snaps. “Cut the shit. Something’s up with you, and I wanna know what it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air inside the truck seems to drop a few degrees. Quentin’s eyes glitter with something otherworldly and foreign, and the shadows on his face give him an eerie, sinister look. “There are some things better left unsaid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, knock it off with the stupid ambiguous </span>
  <em>
    <span>bullshit!</span>
  </em>
  <span> I want to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank’s words are cut off when Quentin slaps a hand over his mouth. He holds Frank’s gaze without faltering, and Frank is surprised to see something like fear behind Quentin’s eyes. It’s not something he ever imagined he’d see from the unshakable young man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Regardless of whether or not I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to explain myself, the best course of action is for me to not say anything. For your safety and mine. Understand?” Quentin hisses in a low tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Narrowing his eyes, Frank opens his mouth and bites Quentin’s hand, which is a pretty effective strategy for getting him to back off. Quentin’s expression is laced with disgust as he wipes his wet hand on his jeans, and Frank takes the brief respite as an opportunity to say his own two cents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t do that again, or I’ll take a chunk out of your hand.” Frank hisses, which earns him an icy look from Quentin. “And I know I’ve been nice enough these past few days, but you’re getting on my last nerve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why invite me to live with you at all?” Quentin counters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Running his hands through his hair, Frank groans, “Because I make it a point to help people in rough situations, and you seem to be in pretty dire straits. But that doesn’t mean you’re immune to annoying the shit out of me with your…” he gestures vaguely in Quentin’s direction, “...fuckin’ mysterious act you’re putting on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a brief bark of laughter, Quentin smiles and replies, “I’m not putting on an act, I’m just insufferable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got that right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the tension fades, Quentin unclips his seatbelt and pushes the door open. Frank does the same before watching as Joey pulls up with Susie and Julie in his own vehicle. The other three Legion members step out into the cool morning air, and join Frank and Quentin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, where’s your apartment?” Joey asks, hands in his pockets and a friendly smile on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin turns to lead the way. “Second floor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Getting into the apartment complex is easy enough, and from the outside it seems normal enough, but the moment the complex door clicks shut behind them, something feels...odd. Quentin doesn’t look bothered at all, but the rest of the Legion, Frank included, very obviously feel the strange atmosphere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s like the calm before a vicious thunderstorm, all crackling energy and damp air, with the vaguest scent of ozone. Shadows dance at the corner of Frank’s eye, but when he looks at the movement, there’s nothing there. There’s also the feeling of being watched, and Frank </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> doesn’t like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of the apartments in the complex are unoccupied, which is very strange, considering this is a decently priced apartment in a good neighbourhood, but Frank doesn’t have long to think about this before they reach Quentin’s apartment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The apartment itself is pretty average, if a little messy, but Frank finds himself struck dumb by what he sees on the walls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sticky notes and sheets of paper are taped to the walls in scattered locations, and all of them have the same strange symbols drawn on them that Quentin sprayed on the wall on campus, and drew on Julie’s bedroom wall. But other than that, the atmosphere in the apartment is calm and Frank no longer has the feeling of being watched. Quentin seems to notice the shocked looks on the Legion’s faces, and he heaves a sigh with his arms folded over his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s just say I have raging paranoia and leave it at that.” he says flatly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Paranoia about </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Julie splutters with an exaggerated gesture at the nearest drawing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin furrows his brow, thinking hard. Then, after a few moments, he looks back at Julie and replies, “Mothman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence that follows is deafening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M...Mothman? Really?” Frank remarks, unconvinced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin seems to notice just how unconvinced the Legion is, and is unbothered by that. Instead, he smiles in an odd, knowing way and replies, “You’d be surprised by what I’ve seen in the wee hours of morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I bet.” Joey says. “Well, uh, I guess we should start moving shit, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the five students start packing up furniture and personal belongings, Frank once again feels like he’s being watched. But whenever he turns to look behind him, there’s nothing there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank sets his mouth in a line. He’ll get to the bottom of whatever mystery surrounds Quentin soon, he knows it.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Two days pass without any major events or grievances, and Quentin is slowly becoming accustomed to the feeling of four very different auras constantly rippling near him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still has a fair amount of stuff to unpack, but his furniture and wards are here, and that’s what matters most. He doesn’t go crazy with the wards like he did in his apartment-- there’s no need to do that, not with three spirits around who will willingly protect him-- but he still keeps a few small wards tucked away near the window. Constructed of small twigs, crushed flower petals, and a red string, the wards emit a faint smell of sage that discourages spirits from entering through the walls or windows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And in spite of Rasiel, Rimmentu, and Falfir finding the wards annoying, Quentin keeps them up. Old habits die hard, after all, and the wards help in making him feel safer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sits at his desk near the window, constructing more wards out of boredom, when there’s a knock at his door. Without looking up, he mumbles, “Come in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, it really smells like sage in here. What, you worried about ghosts?” Frank teases, pushing the door open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin spins around in his office chair with a smirk. “Something like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chuckling, Frank leans against the doorframe and asks, “Whatcha makin’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Quentin hums. “Just...stupid charms. It’s a hobby of mine, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool. Can I see?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shrugging, Quentin holds out the finished ward and watches as Frank approaches and takes it. The scarred young man turns the bundle of twigs and dried leaves over in his hands curiously before meeting Quentin’s eyes and asking, “Can I keep this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank makes a weird ‘I don’t know’ noise before replying, “It doesn’t hurt to keep a good luck charm around, does it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess not...sure. Keep it.” Quentin sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweet. Is there any place I should--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By your bed.” Quentin blurts out, feeling the oppressive energy of Izzan’s aura approaching. “It supposedly chases away hostile energies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank cocks an eyebrow. Izzan materializes in the corner of the room, aggression in his posture. “Is hostile energy a problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you wouldn’t believe the extent of the hostile energy that exists in the world.” Quentin says, shooting a cocky glance at Izzan briefly. “The sage smell should at least annoy the hell out of any bad things in the house and keep them from bothering anyone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, Frank seems to have picked up on Quentin’s quick sideways glance and casts a confused look of his own in Izzan’s direction. He looks back at Quentin. “Is there something wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Quentin says, and proceeds to explain absolutely nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After holding Quentin’s gaze for a few moments, Frank heaves a sigh and shrugs. “Okay then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An awkward silence hangs between them then, lasting way too long for Quentin’s liking, and he’s about to ask Frank to leave when the young man in question speaks again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve gotta pick up some shit from one of my professors, if you wanna come with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin blinks owlishly. “Why not ask one of your friends to go with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you’ve locked yourself in this room for the past few days and you need some air. Come on, let’s get going.” Frank laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In spite of himself, Quentin feels a smile creep across his face. “Alright. Just gimme a second.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank leaves Quentin alone to get ready, and in that time, Quentin wonders why in God’s name it’s so easy for Frank to make him smile. It’s...strange. And Quentin isn’t sure he likes it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s been pretty self-sufficient thus far, and he doesn’t need anyone to help him with anything, but it’s kind of nice to have someone around who actually seems to </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> being with Quentin. Though, he figures that Frank can’t really have his already-shitty reputation damaged any further by hanging around with “that weird guy Quentin Smith”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he pulls on his dark grey jacket, Quentin’s phone buzzes from its place on his desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pauses to stare at it in confusion for a few seconds before walking over and grabbing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Nancy 09:12</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Hey Quen, how are you?</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin does a double-take when he sees the name. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me 09:12</b>
</p><p>
  <b>I’m good. jfc i havent heard from you in a while, how are u holding up?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Nancy 09:13</b>
</p><p>
  <b>I’m surviving. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>You doing okay with all your spirit-seeing stuff? I know it gets to you pretty bad sometimes.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Me 09:14</b>
</p><p>
  <b>It doesn’t get to me so much anymore, thankfully. But I actually encountered some spirits who don’t want me dead lol</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Nancy 09:14</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Shut up</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Really?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Me 09:14</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Yea. It’s nice, I’m living with some friends from campus, and their spirits are pretty chill. Except for one, but the other spirits kinda keep him out of my space.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Nancy 09:15</b>
</p><p>
  <b>That’s good then, I was worried abt you. I’m glad you’re actually making friends though. I thought you were done with friends after...that whole mess.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Me 09:15</b>
  
</p><p>
  <b>Let’s not talk about that. Okay? I don’t want to think about it. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>As for my friends, they’re cool. Frank is the one I hang out with most, he’s pretty alright.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Absolutely insufferable, but nice enough.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Nancy 09:16</b>
</p><p>
  <b>You like him, huh?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Me 09:16</b>
</p><p>
  <b>If this is going where I think it is, it better not be.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Nancy 09:17</b>
</p><p>
  <b>I know you like brunets, is he a brunet?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Quentin I need details. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Don’t you ignore me, dickhead, I know where you live.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Me 09:18</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Jesus Christ, okay</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Yes he’s a brunet but I’m not into him. Why are you like this with every man I talk to</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Nancy 09:18</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Because I know you, and you are one thirsty bitch</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Me 09:19</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Okay now you’re just being rude. I am absolutely not a thirsty bitch.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>I’m bisexual, why don’t you harass me like this with the girls I meet? </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Nancy 09:20</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Because I know you like men better. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>I would say you have the freedom to harass me about crushes and shit but I’m asexual and thus I am immune.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin is about to send a reply, when Frank calls over from the hallway. “Hey, are you coming?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, just a second.”</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me 09:20</b>
</p><p>
  <b>I’ve gotta go but this conversation is not over. I assure you, I will win this argument somehow.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Nancy 09:21</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Keep telling yourself that. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Anyways, it was nice talking to you. Maybe we can meet up sometime.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Me 09:21</b>
</p><p>
  <b>I’d like that</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Nancy 09:21</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Bring your boyfriend</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Me 09:22</b>
</p><p>
  <b>HE’S NOT MY BOYFRIEND.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he can read Nancy’s next text, Quentin closes his phone and tucks it in his back pocket. He doesn’t need to be distracted by her playful jabs when he’s out in public, where spirits can harass him. He heaves a sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he steps out into the hallway and shuts his bedroom door, Frank is there with his back against the wall and his arms folded casually over his chest. He shoots a lopsided smile at Quentin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready to go?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin shrugs. “Sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they descend the stairs, Quentin takes notice of Rasiel and Izzan’s approaching auras. He pretends nothing is amiss as he feels Izzan’s teeth snapping at his legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You dare defy me and fraternize with my charge?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>In response, Rasiel growls, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Touch the boundary-dweller and I shall skin you alive.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You don’t frighten me, Old One.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin feels static starting to buzz in the back of his head, and sweat beading on his face. The auras both spark with dangerous energy, like a building on the verge of collapse, and Quentin knows the feeling of impending sensory overload all too well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pours all his focus into Frank, fixating on him like he’s an island in a tropical storm, and forces his voice to remain level as he tries lamely to start a conversation. “So, what’s…your favorite colour?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank shoots him a vaguely amused look. “Red. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No reason. Just trying to start a conversation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a laugh, Frank replies, “Well, you started one. What’s your favorite colour then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...blue.” Quentin says flatly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His ears are starting to ring. Izzan’s teeth catch the flesh on the back of Quentin’s calf and tear the skin. With a hiss of pain, Quentin instinctively kicks back at Izzan, knocking the spirit off-balance and forcing him to awkwardly regain his composure.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wretched BRAT-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I told you not to touch him.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Izzan’s claws scrape along the sidewalk as Rasiel somehow drags the jackal backwards and flings him about ten feet without touching him. After a brief standoff, Izzan concedes and vanishes into smoke again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, what the hell happened to your pants?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank’s voice brings Quentin back to the present, and he glances down to see a decently-sized tear in the leg of his pants where Izzan had bitten him. Quentin blinks. “Good question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You literally made a noise and kicked at something. What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing you’ll believe, I promise you that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank groans, dragging his bandaged palms down his face. “Dude, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Reaching the end of his patience, Quentin breaks into a grin and looks Frank dead in the eye. “A dog wearing a happy-face mask bit me. It has a snake for a tail and the attitude of a rabid mongoose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank blinks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A silence hangs in the air between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Frank speaks in a low tone. “So...what? Are you a medium or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what?” Quentin splutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just said you were bit by a dog, and that would explain the tear in your pants and the cut on your leg. It looks like a dog bite, from what I can tell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin stares. “You don’t really </span>
  <em>
    <span>believe </span>
  </em>
  <span>that explanation, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a shrug, Frank replies, “I don’t know what to believe, man. I just want any kind of explanation for whatever the fuck is your deal. And at this point, I’m willing to believe ghosts exist and that you’re some kind of medium.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Quentin considers telling the truth. He trusts Frank to keep his mouth shut about it, and he’s pretty certain the guy won’t do anything to put the planes’ balance in jeopardy, but at the same time…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Running a hand through his hair, Quentin heaves a sigh. “Look. I trust you and all, but I’m serious when I say that you don’t want to get mixed up in what I deal with. It’s more hassle than anything. You also wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank holds Quentin’s gaze. “Try me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin scrutinizes Frank’s face for a time, searching for anything in his expression that would betray a lie. But there’s nothing but serious earnesty there. He flicks his attention to the floating form of Rasiel to the right of Frank. They blink their many eyes slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“If you deem him trustworthy, I will stand with your decision.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin drops his attention to the ground, rubbing slowly at the back of his neck. “Well…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, fancy meeting you two troublemakers here!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank and Quentin both snap their attention around to look at the front doors to the university’s general studies wing. Standing there is none other than Danny again, who holds a camera in his hands and whose glasses sit crookedly on his face. He reaches up with one hand to adjust them with that same sly smile he always has. “Any particular reason you two are here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just picking up some stuff from my professor.” Frank explains with a nonchalant shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin shoots a glance at the amalgamous black void swirling into existence to Danny’s left. A ghostly mask adorned with multicoloured feathers melts out of it, the void shifting into the inky black body of some sort of cloven-hoofed creature on two legs. Meeting Danny’s eyes again, he replies, “I’m here to make sure Frank doesn’t do anything stupid along the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see, I see.” Danny hums. “I myself am just here looking for something to entertain me. A subject for my column, or a fascinating photo. I would choose you, Mr.Smith, but I still cannot for the life of me understand why your face never shows up in photos or videos.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank’s eyes burn holes in Quentin’s skin at that last line. Swallowing, Quentin replies, “Maybe your camera is out of focus, or maybe you need a new one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, it isn’t that…” Danny sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Click.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin snaps his attention to the left to see Frank just finished taking a photo of his face. He pulls up the image with a perplexed look. “Shit, you’re right. That’s weird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay,</span>
  </em>
  <span> can we just drop it? I don’t want my photo taken, let’s just leave it at that.” Quentin snaps at both men. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Danny chuckles at the outburst, and Frank mumbles a quick apology. Quentin supposes those reactions will have to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I see you are still struggling to keep your identity concealed, boundary-dweller.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Danny’s Guardian comments in amusement. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“It would be an easier existence if you allowed the Entity to consume you. She hungers for your soul, and you must be growing tired of all these lies.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin narrows his eyes. With a quick glance at Danny and Frank to make sure they won’t notice, he uses his right hand to rapidly Sign a flurry of letters. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck off.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t often Sign to communicate with spirits, since he’s typically by himself and can openly speak with them, but Quentin </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> taken the time to learn how to fingerspell in the rare instance he can manage it without being caught. And neither of the people with Quentin seem to notice.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You can Sign?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rasiel comments, impressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t do it often, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Quentin replies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you good?” Frank comments, dragging Quentin back to the present.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin blinks slowly at him. “I’m fine. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank looks down. “You were doing something with your hand.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a moment of deliberation, Quentin responds. “I have ADHD. I fidget a bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Quentin here is well-known for his unorthodox fidgeting. It’s nothing to gawk at, Morrison.” Danny comments, and for once, Quentin is thankful for the journalist’s unprompted commentary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank holds Quentin’s gaze for a short time longer. Then, he shakes himself and sighs, “Right. Forgot you had that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I suppose I’ll be going now. You never know when you’ll find a one-of-a-kind story.” Danny chirps with his ever-present and off-putting smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin nods. “Yeah. Good luck with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as quickly as he’d appeared, Danny sets off past them towards another part of campus, his Guardian spirit casting a sinister look at Quentin as he does. Once Danny’s gone, Frank heaves a sigh and walks up the steps towards the Gen Ed wing’s doors. He holds the door open for Quentin, who mutters a quick “thank you” before letting the door fall shut and matching Quentin’s pace. As they walk, Quentin becomes aware of Rasiel’s aura blanketing him in soothing warmth, like a hot shower on a cold day. Some of the anxiety dissipates from his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they walk down the mostly-empty main hall, Frank lowers his voice. “So what were you gonna say before the Nutty Professor popped in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In spite of himself, Quentin chuckles at Frank’s words. Now thoroughly comforted by both Frank’s acceptance and Rasiel’s reassuring aura, he takes a breath and murmurs, “Look...I’ll understand if you don’t believe what I have to say, but just don’t tell anyone about it. It’s a secret that </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be kept. Okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. I can do that.” Frank replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin lets out a slow breath. “I, uh...I see things. That nobody else can see. I’m the only one who can see them, touch them, talk to them. I’m not supposed to exist. Which ties into the reason I don’t show up properly in videos or photos.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I figured you were seeing things. But if you don’t mind me asking, what kind of things do you see?” Frank asks, eyes unreadable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ghosts. Monsters. Spirits. Gods and goddesses. All sorts of fucked up shit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gods? Is Zeus or fuckin’...Jesus Christ himself one of those gods?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin shrugs. “Jesus isn’t real as far as I know. I don’t know about Greek gods or famous mythological deities either. The gods I see are ancient spirits who influence emotions, weather, whatever. They’re less “Disney’s Hercules” and more “H.P. Lovecraft” to be honest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yikes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank takes a moment, scrutinizing the ground at his feet. After a short time, he runs a hand through his hair and sighs, “This is a lot to process.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand if you don’t believe me-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe you. At least, I think I do. I don’t know.” Frank groans, rubbing at his temples. “I doubt you’d lie to me, but there’s also the possibility that you’re only seeing what your mind makes you see. I dunno.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin recoils, taken aback. “You think I’m crazy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no! I just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think I’m only seeing what my mind makes up. That sounds like ‘I think Quentin’s crazy’ to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank grabs Quentin by the shoulders. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Listen</span>
  </em>
  <span> to me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin narrows his eyes and holds his hands up in a sarcastic gesture of surrender. “Elaborate, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once Frank’s released Quentin, the taller student heaves an exasperated sigh and lowers his voice again. “I know you aren’t lying to me. But I need visible proof of these spirits’ existence to solidly believe it. Like...I feel like you’re telling the truth, but I want to see it with my own eyes. Y’know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust me, seeing these things isn’t something you want to be cursed with.” Quentin laughs humorlessly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t there a way you could, like, give me temporary abilities to see these things? I don’t need it all the time, but I want to know what exactly you’re dealing with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin fixates Frank with a hard stare, scrutinizing his grey eyes for any deception or disbelief. He finds none. He shrugs, continuing to walk down the main hall. “I could figure something out. Like some sunglasses that let you see into the Second Plane, or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That works for me. How long will it take you to make something like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good question. I’ve never tried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank laughs at Quentin’s bluntness, face bright. “Well, good luck making it. If you need help, I’ll be around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.” Quentin replies with a small, lopsided smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time their quiet conversation reaches its end, the two young men have reached the Gen Ed offices, and Frank is knocking on an imposing-looking door. On the door is a name, one that Quentin vaguely recognizes.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>EVAN MACMILLAN.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>A gruff, deep voice comes from inside, “Come in, Frank.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank shoots Quentin a reassuring smile, which honestly doesn’t do much for Quentin’s anxiety. He’s heard rumors about Evan Macmillan, ranging from things as mundane as him having an affinity for sketching, to outlandish stories of how he caused an accident in his father’s mine that took the lives of several hundred workers. Quentin isn’t sure whether he believes either of them, but he’ll know soon enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the moment the door opens, Quentin feels his worries mostly melt away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There aren’t any lingering ghosts around Evan’s intimidating figure, so Quentin knows the latter theory is just that: a theory. Anyone who has any part in the deaths of that many people is bound to have a few grudge-holding ghosts following them around. And the only spectre next to Evan Macmillan is his Guardian spirit, which appears to be a grizzly bear with a grimy, off-white mask bearing a jagged grin and eerily small eyeholes. There’s a series of hooklike spikes scattered over its right shoulder, and it’s rear legs and tail appear to be those of a buffalo. It regards Quentin with quiet hostility, its hollow black eyes glittering with something unreadable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evan fixates Quentin with a mildly curious look. “I recognize you, but I can’t remember your name…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quentin. I’m a photojournalism major.” Quentin says coolly, pointedly avoiding looking at Evan’s Guardian.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a grimace, Evan replies, “Then you’re one of Danny’s students. It takes a strong will to put up with that nuisance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I manage somehow.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evan rubs at his chin, and Quentin takes a moment to get a better look at the brawny professor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has to be around seven feet tall, with black undercut hair and a strong jaw, his face riddled with dark, ridged scars. He wears a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up above his elbows, black pants, and shiny black dress shoes. All in all, Evan Macmillan looks like someone you wouldn’t want to be pitted against in a fight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laces his hands together in front of him on his desk. “Good on you.” his dark eyes find Frank. “And you were here for that textbook you had me order in, correct?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s the one.” Frank replies with a grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evan gives a noncommittal grunt and reaches for a textbook on the corner of his desk. He hands it to Frank, who takes it with a ‘thank you’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Evan discusses with Frank which sections of the textbook he should focus on, Quentin lets his attention drift to Evan’s Guardian, who still watches him warily. With a quiet inhale, Quentin fingerspells to the Guardian.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry for intruding. I won’t be here long.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The Guardian grunts, similarly to how Evan did. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“At least you are respectful. Your existence may be taboo, but your manners are appreciated.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m glad I haven’t offended you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I did not say that.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>The spirit replies with a low growl, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>The fact that your Guardian spirit was irresponsible enough to create you is offensive on its own and puts a blight on all spirits. But I suppose your Guardian is to blame and not you. Thus, I will show you dignity.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The spirit huffs with a shake of its thick pelt. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“What shall I call you, dreamwalker?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin blinks owlishly. ‘Dreamwalker’. Huh. That was a new one. Quentin kind of likes it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Quentin. That’s my name.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Humans give their offspring such strange names.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> the spirit comments, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I am Vaalyun.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>With all due respect, I hope you realize the irony of giving your name after mocking my own.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The grin on Vaalyun’s mask stretches wider and he chuckles. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You are witty. I admire quick wit.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The corners of Quentin’s mouth threaten to curve into a smile. Thankfully though, Quentin has nurtured quite an effective poker face over the years and resists the urge to break into a grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand on Quentin’s shoulder brings him back to the present with a jump. He snaps his head to the side to see Frank watching him with a cheeky grin. “Zoning out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe.” Quentin replies slowly with a quick glance at Evan to judge his reaction to Quentin’s not-so-discreet fingerspelling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The professor doesn’t seem to have noticed, or maybe he just doesn’t care. Either way, Evan isn’t someone that Quentin needs to worry about. Frank gives Quentin’s shoulder a quick squeeze before letting go. “C’mon. We don’t need to be wasting old Evan Macmillan’s time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watch your mouth, Frank. I haven’t forgotten about that shit you pulled in your freshman year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank laughs brightly, flipping the brawny professor off playfully before dragging an apologetic Quentin out of the office door. The door clicks shut behind them, and once they’re in the empty hallway once more, Frank whips around and grabs Quentin by both shoulders, eyes glittering with excitement. “Were you talking to another spirit in there? I saw you doing your fuckin’ hand thing. Was that Sign language?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin pulls out of Frank’s grip with a shudder of discomfort at the unsolicited contact. “Yeah…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did it look like? Was it Macmillan’s spirit animal or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what it was. Spirit animals are Native American. These are different.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank paces in a tight circle. “Okay, sick. What are they then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin narrows his eyes suspiciously at Frank before shoving him casually and heading down the hall. Frank jogs to catch up with all the excitement of a golden retriever. “I won’t stop harassing you until you tell me, man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I just need a coffee before we sit down and talk about this.” Quentin sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank shrugs. “Fine by me.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Across from Frank, Quentin holds his cup of cheap coffee between his hands and stares into the lid. And as impatient as Frank is, he understands that this seems to be hard for Quentin to talk about. So he waits quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank isn’t sure what to believe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Does he believe his common sense? Or does he take the plunge and believe Quentin? He isn’t sure what he even wants to believe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But for now, he’ll trust Quentin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, the enigmatic young man heaves a sigh and speaks. “Every person is bonded to a spirit the moment they’re born. Sometimes it’s a new spirit. Sometimes it’s a spirit who’s had previous charges. Either way, that spirit is known as a Guardian, and their job is to protect their human with their life.” Quentin pauses. “The rest are Strays, Jinxes, Ghosts, and Ancient Ones.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank blinks in surprise. “So even I have a Guardian?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin nods, but there’s something dark and unreadable in his eyes. “Yeah. You do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it here right now?” he can’t help asking, “What’s it look like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your Guardian...his name is Izzan. He’s not here right now because he doesn’t like me. He’s a jackal with a snake for a tail and a creepy happy-face mask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a pang of disappointment, Frank mumbles, “He’s the one that bit you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. He’s...really overprotective of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, Frank doesn’t feel super happy about that. If Izzan is so overprotective, then where was he when…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...when…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stinging handprints across his skin. Aches and pains after being thrown into furniture. Scars that won’t ever go away.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Promises that burn like acid and linger like ghosts.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank glares down at his own coffee before taking a rueful sip. “Izzan sounds like a twat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In spite of his unshakable nature, Quentin laughs quietly. A small smile plays at his lips. “You wouldn’t be wrong there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank takes a moment to observe Quentin then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t noticed before now, because he wasn’t really </span>
  <em>
    <span>looking,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but Quentin’s skin is mottled with ghostly-pale scars. They crisscross his face, his neck, his hands and arms. There’s a knobbiness to the joints in his hands that indicate years of dislocated or broken bones, and there’s a few scars that rise from his skin like mountain ranges on a map. The bags under his eyes are dark and smudgy, betraying a poor sleep schedule, and the eyes themselves have a deep, profound sadness to them that makes Frank’s chest ache. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hits him then, that Quentin is a person damaged by trauma and years of solitude, and Frank is probably the first friend he’s had in a long time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a tightness in Frank’s throat and chest that threatens to overwhelm him. But Frank is nothing if not stubborn, and he refuses to show any “negative” emotions. Not right now. So instead, he reaches out and gently places a hand on Quentin’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, man. I may not understand a lot of...</span>
  <em>
    <span>this...</span>
  </em>
  <span>but I want you to know that I’m gonna be here for you. Okay? If you need to vent, or scream, or bitch about anything, I’ll listen. This seems like a lot of shit to deal with by yourself.” Frank says in a low tone, leveling Quentin with a serious stare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin watches him with surprised eyes. “You don’t have to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t give me that bullshit.” Frank interrupts. “I share shit with Joey and the girls if I’m feelin’ fuckin’ depressed. We’re a Legion, the five of us. We support each other. So please don’t think you have to deal with all this crap on your own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Quentin merely scrutinizes Frank’s face for any sign of a joke. But obviously, he finds none. So, with an almost shy nod, Quentin lowers his gaze and replies quietly, “Okay. Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now completely satisfied, Frank leans back in his chair and takes another sip of his coffee. “So, explain to me what the rest of these spirits are. You said something like...Strays? What are those?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin drums his fingers on the table, brow furrowed as he gathers his words. Once he’s ready, he looks back up at Frank and explains. “Strays are like...Guardians, with less power, and no human charge. They wander around like, well, stray cats and dogs, and their intelligence ranges from barely having sentience, to being able to hold a full conversation in every human language.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are there any Strays in here? In the coffee shop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin nods. “You ever seen that film Spirited Away?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a bunch of little Strays in this room that look like the little soot creatures. Except they change colour,” he glances nonchalantly around himself, “There’s a few Guardians here with their human charges, and there’s a Stray that kind of looks like an axolotl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus. That’s insane.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This room is pretty crowded, to be honest. There’s not usually this many Guardians and Strays in one place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank nods, leaning forward to rest his weight on his forearms. “What are Jinxes, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beings made of negative energy that affect the humans near them. The more negative you are, the more Jinxes appear. They’re what I was dealing with that night I broke into Julie’s room.” Quentin explains as he taps a finger on the lid of his coffee cup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank searches Quentin’s face for a moment. “Ghosts are pretty self-explanatory, I assume. But Ancient Ones? What are those?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gods, basically. They’re spirits that have been around longer than the Earth itself, coming from a place before time existed, and releasing a fragment of their true power in our world could destroy life as we know it. But some of them find a way to use their power while preventing the destruction of our world.” Quentin pauses to think. “Some Ancient Ones choose to take up the mantle of a Guardian and tie themselves to a human charge. Julie’s Guardian is an Ancient One. But the majority of them dwell on the edge of existence, neither here nor there, feeding off of the emotions and turmoil in our world to keep themselves alive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They sound terrifying.” Frank says with a shudder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin laughs softly. “They kind of are. But most of them don’t do anything other than affect the weather, or politics, or the seasons.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s something about Quentin’s tone that suggests he’s keeping something else from Frank. So Frank, being as straightforward as he is, asks directly. “There’s something else you wanna say, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dragging a hand through his hair, Quentin heaves a sigh. “There’s an Ancient One that’s after me. It’s why I don’t go out at night without a spirit nearby to hide my presence from it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s called The Entity, and she feeds off of desperate hope. She’s the embodiment of despair and hopelessness, giving people hope just to consume that hope when it’s inevitably crushed. I’ve been told she’s good at making people see and hear things that aren’t there.” Quentin explains, his eyes trained on the tabletop between himself and Frank. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank leans forward, brow furrowing. “Why is she after you, Quen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.” Quentin murmurs quietly with a shake of his head. “I wish I did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it because of your...powers, I guess? I don’t know what to call this thing you’ve got going on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laughing in a self-deprecating way, Quentin flashes Frank a sad smile. “I’d assume so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A heavy silence hangs between them then, like a thunderstorm just waiting to break the sky open and drown them in noise and downpour. There’s so many things Frank wants to ask, so many things he wants to say, but he’s not sure whether he should voice those things. Quentin’s had a rough time as it is, and if he’s telling the truth about all this, then he definitely doesn’t need Frank bombarding him with questions all at once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>However…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...there </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> one thing Frank really wants to ask…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Quen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank takes a breath. “How long have you had your ability to see spirits?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin tilts his head slightly. “About...I’d say almost four years now. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would your involvement in the Springwood murders have anything to do with how you got it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin recoils sharply, almost as if he’s been slapped. His previously calm, grey-blue eyes have closed off, locked behind steel doors. “I don’t want to talk about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t ever really talked to anyone about it before, have you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I don’t need to talk about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you do, if your reaction is anything to go by.” Frank insists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin stands up so abruptly his chair almost tips over backwards. He slams his hands down on the tabletop, drawing the nosy attention of a few other customers. Without paying them any mind, Quentin leans forward, his breath warm on Frank’s face. “If you had any </span>
  <em>
    <span>idea</span>
  </em>
  <span> what I went through that week, you wouldn’t be bothering me like this. You don’t know what I carry around with me every goddamned day. “</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a scoff, Frank stands as well. “Maybe if you </span>
  <em>
    <span>told me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’d be able to understand and apologize for any shit I’m pulling. And who says I don’t understand your fucking trauma? You think you’re the only person with shitty memories?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The burn of a harsh slap. The ache of water-filled lungs. The lash of insults and angry screams.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t say that. But some things don’t deserve to be talked about.” Quentin snaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you’re right,” Frank growls, “but you deserve to be happy again, and talking about it will help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin laughs humorlessly, coldly. “Who says I deserve that? I’ve done things I can’t forget, things people shouldn’t forgive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank stares at Quentin in shock, simply taking in his harsh words. Harsh words directed at </span>
  <em>
    <span>himself.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And for a second, Frank feels like he’s looking in a mirror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Old insecurities dragged to the surface by his memories and the young man before him. Trauma threatening to consume him. Night after night of horrible flashbacks, memories, and dreams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank recalls Quentin crying silently in his sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a pang of sadness, Frank realizes that he’s been luckier than Quentin. Because while Frank had his friends, his Legion to help him through his sleepless nights and bad days, Quentin was alone. For four years. His harsh expression softens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank sits back down, meeting Quentin’s hostile gaze with a calm one of his own. Taking a deep breath, Frank murmurs, “I guess I’ve been kind of an asshole. With, y’know, all my nosiness.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you have.” Quentin remarks, sitting down as well with a harsh look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But anyways,” Frank huffs, “we barely know each other, and I’m already on your ass about your trauma. Like some kind of dickhead. So what I’m thinking is this: we try being friends first. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Then, </span>
  </em>
  <span>once I’ve seduced you with my good looks and grade-A friendship, we try sharing our respective horrible memories. So we both get some of that sick-ass closure. Sound good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank doesn’t miss the way Quentin’s eyes quickly skirt over the scar on his right cheek. It’s obvious that Quentin wants to know what </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> was from. But he needs to give Frank information about his own psychological scars in exchange. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After an indeterminate amount of time, Quentin folds his arms across his chest and relaxes ever-so-slightly. “Alright. But you’ve gotta “seduce” me first. Which won’t happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank lets a mischievous smile spread across his face. “I managed to get you to live with us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s different.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? How so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a scowl, Quentin takes a sip of his coffee. “It just is. But I’ll humor you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Challenge accepted.” Frank teases lightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin simply glares at him. But that does nothing to discourage Frank, who is as stubborn and bullheaded as ever. He grins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows he’ll get to the bottom of this and help out this depressed, ghost-seeing roommate of his. Because he’s Frank fucking Morrison, and not even the gods themselves can stop him when he’s got his mind set on something.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Frank is a dumb bitch and Quentin likes to repress his trauma, the musical.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. it was not meant that we should voyage far</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>good fucking LORD this took me a while to write, due to a combination of writers' block and sweating the rift in DBD. I made it to rank 1 as survivor though, through sheer dumb luck and being consistently carried by my teammates. So there's that.</p>
<p>Anyways, I finally wrote a goddamn outline for this fic so hopefully it has more direction afcjavjsvdvj</p>
<p>This chapter is kind of all over the place, but I hope it seems somewhat comprehensible. Thank you for sticking with me in spite of my shitty upload schedule and (previous) lack of direction, and I hope this chapter is likable!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By the time Frank realizes he’s <em> probably </em> gotten in over his head, it’s far too late to say anything. </p>
<p>What does that mean? Well, it means that Quentin has gone completely overboard with the wards and charms in his room and Frank is starting to get a little concerned. It isn’t just the little bundles of ribbon and twigs he’s seen a million times before, but there’s also the same little sticky note wards he’d had in his apartment adorning his walls now. </p>
<p>And as he stands in the doorway, processing what the hell he’s seeing, Quentin watches him with a deadpan expression. The scrawny young man sits casually on his office chair, wearing a grey hoodie and pyjama pants, with his arms folded over his chest and his hair in disarray. </p>
<p>After an indeterminate amount of time, Frank clears his throat and gestures vaguely around. “Mind tellin’ me about-”</p>
<p>“You know why I have them.”</p>
<p>Another awkward silence passes. </p>
<p>Eventually, Frank breaks it again. “Okay. Uh, cool. Coolcoolcool.”</p>
<p>“Cool.” Quentin says flatly.</p>
<p>Frank kind of wants to die if it means the awkward atmosphere will be broken. With a deep breath, he shifts his weight from foot to foot and cracks his knuckles. “Is, um. Is there anything I can-”</p>
<p>“Nope.”</p>
<p>“You sure?”</p>
<p>“Positive, Frank.” Quentin sighs. “I am a completely well-adjusted 22-year-old cisgender white male with a healthy social life and many friends.”</p>
<p>Internally, Frank screams.</p>
<p>When he doesn’t get an answer, Quentin slumps back against his chair and tilts his head up to stare at the ceiling. “I’m joking, Frank. I’m perpetually paranoid beyond reason and all I can say is that I’m gonna take a while to adjust.”</p>
<p>“Alright,” Frank says in a rush, “okay, uh...thanks for the honest answer.”</p>
<p>“How do you know it’s honest?” Quentin says with a slightly mischievous look at Frank. </p>
<p>Thankful for the reprieve, Frank takes the olive branch Quentin offers him in order to leave the previous awkwardness behind. “Because I like taking a gamble.”</p>
<p>Quentin huffs in amusement and rises swiftly to his feet. With a charm held loosely in his fingers, he glances towards the window. After a moment of deliberation, he slowly speaks. </p>
<p>“I think I’m gonna go out for a bit. Do some...spirit-related shit.” he says almost hesitantly, not looking at Frank.</p>
<p>Frank shrugs. “Okay. Be safe, I guess?”</p>
<p>Quentin lingers for a few moments longer. Then, once he seems to have gathered his thoughts, he makes his way across the room to the door, closes it to keep Frank out, heads downstairs, and leaves. Frank is left in silence for a time as he tries to process his odd interactions with Quentin. </p>
<p>But once Quentin is gone, it occurs to him that his enigmatic roommate has, in fact, finally left his room unattended. And that means, in Frank’s mind, that he’s given out a ‘free snooping’ pass to whoever stumbles across the door. So with Frank being Frank, he steps inside and begins investigating. </p>
<p>Other than the wards, everything seems pretty standard. There’s books, videogames, dirty cups and all manner of other mundane items strewn about the room. But Frank is nothing if not impulsive, and he takes it a step further. He delves into the desk drawers. </p>
<p>Again, everything initially seems pretty normal. Journals, stationery, earbuds, and whatever other average items fill the drawers. But as Frank is digging through Quentin’s stuff, he notices that, in the bottom desk drawer, there’s a small cardboard box wedged behind a few binders. So he digs the box out.</p>
<p>He only hesitates momentarily before opening the box, and the guilt only briefly hits him before fading again. Because what he finds inside gives him a bit more insight into his odd roommate’s history.</p>
<p>There’s a stack of photos inside, along with a cross necklace. </p>
<p>The necklace is nothing special, just a time-corroded cross and disc on a silver chain, but the photos are what catch Frank’s eye. He sets the necklace gently aside on the desk and picks up the stack of photos. </p>
<p>In each one, there’s a picture of someone unfamiliar with a younger Quentin. A couple teenage boys. Two girls. Some pictures of teenage Quentin with all of them. There aren’t any names written on the backs of the photos, but Frank doesn’t really need to know their names. He just knows that, at some point, Quentin had a decently sized friend group, and was happy. <em> Genuinely </em> happy. </p>
<p>The question remains, though:</p>
<p>What exactly happened in Springwood, and where are Quentin’s friends now?</p>
<hr/>
<p>In a grimy alley behind a 7-11, Quentin holds a can of spraypaint and draws on old red brick. </p>
<p>The 7-11 is already covered in graffiti, so Quentin figures his own wards won’t be particularly unusual on the old convenience store’s disgusting walls. They’ll look occult-ish and weird next to the countless crude drawings of dicks and near-unreadable stylized text, but not overly suspect. Which is why he’s making such a big ward on this particular wall.</p>
<p>It measures about ten feet in diameter, stretching from the ground to the roof, and it’s giving Quentin quite the hard time. Mostly because Quentin is, in all honesty, very short, and the only way he can reach up as high as he wants to is with the help of Rasiel. </p>
<p>He balances precariously with both sneakers planted on one of Rasiel’s golden rings and one hand stabilizing himself against the wall, and hopes to God that nobody comes by and sees him floating five feet off the ground. He’s even extending his perception as far as possible to detect any approaching auras and as such, the ward itself is quite messy. </p>
<p>With a sigh, he finishes the last few strokes of spraypaint and lowers his mask. “Thank you, Rasiel.”</p>
<p>“<em> It is no trouble at all.” </em> The spirit replies calmly, lowering Quentin to the ground. “ <em> Rather, I enjoy having something new to do. Eternity gets quite boring after a while.” </em></p>
<p>“I can only imagine.” Quentin replies with a vague smile at the spirit. </p>
<p>As he steps back to admire his handiwork, Rasiel presents a question of their own. </p>
<p>
  <em> “You and Frank are getting along better, it seems?” </em>
</p>
<p>Quentin shrugs. “I guess so? It’s kind of nice now that I don’t have to hide all my…” he gestures vaguely, “...weirdness.”</p>
<p>Rasiel chuckles. <em> “You seem happier.” </em></p>
<p>“I am happier. Happier than I’ve been in a while.”</p>
<p>
  <em> “That is good. You are more pleasant to deal with when you are happier.” </em>
</p>
<p>Quentin shoots the spirit a mischievous look. “Is that so?”</p>
<p>Had Quentin been paying attention, he might’ve noticed the familiar aura encroaching on his position, or the flicker of movement at the alley’s opening. But his attention is fully trained on Rasiel, who is the only one to notice the approaching stranger. Their aura flashes with alarm, and they hiss out a warning.</p>
<p>
  <em> “There is someone here.” </em>
</p>
<p>Quentin barely has time to react when a familiar voice reaches his ears. “Up to no good again, my friend?”</p>
<p>He whips around to see none other than Danny Johnson approaching, a cigarette held in his teeth as he casually lights it. His mouth is quirked in a knowing smirk, and there’s something about the way his aura ripples that Quentin doesn’t like.</p>
<p>
  <em> How much did he see? </em>
</p>
<p>Quentin schools his expression into something unreadable. “You know it.”</p>
<p>Danny hums thoughtfully, his unnerving eyes trained on Quentin. He remains silent for a few heartbeats more before commenting, “My boy, I can only cover for you for so long before you get in trouble again.”</p>
<p>“I know the consequences. And I can face them if I need to.” Quentin replies sternly.</p>
<p>Danny’s brows lower just a tiny bit. “I see, I see.” </p>
<p>Another uncomfortable silence passes, the seconds seeming to drag on into infinity. Rasiel seems to have vanished into thin air, and without them around, Quentin grows increasingly more nervous. </p>
<p>His anxiety reaches a peak when Danny blows out a puff of smoke and stares into Quentin’s very soul.</p>
<p>“I’d love to know what lovely parlor trick you just executed.”</p>
<p>Quentin swallows nervously. “What parlor trick?”</p>
<p>“Oh, you know…” Danny hums with a smile, “...the one where you float five feet off the ground.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Julie has never been the type to intrude on people’s business.</p>
<p>From a very young age, she’s been very good at “staying in her own lane” and ignoring things that just don’t concern her. But as she’s grown older, she’s gotten more eager to step in whenever her friends, her Legion, are involved. </p>
<p>‘Do no harm but take no shit,’ are the words she tries to live by. </p>
<p>But in contrast to this, she’s always been quite good at telling when something is amiss. From things like the stove being left on, to noticing an unattended child in a dangerous position, Julie just has a knack for noticing bad things and being drawn to help. She may not <em> want </em> to help, but her intuition has never lied to her, so she listens.</p>
<p>This odd feeling hits her as she browses the candy section of a local 7-11, having recently finished her morning classes. Her hand, which had been about to pick up a box of Whoppers, pauses just above them. </p>
<p>Something is wrong. Or something is going to <em> go </em> wrong. She doesn’t know which one it is, yet.</p>
<p>For a moment, she contemplates ignoring her weird feeling. But as per usual, she begrudgingly turns away from what she’s doing in favor of seeing what the hell is going on. </p>
<p>The late morning air has a bite to it that Julie isn’t a fan of, and she tries using that as an excuse to ignore her gut, but for whatever reason, she continues on. Her feeling leads her around the convenience store to the grubby alleyway behind it, and she slows as she reaches the corner. </p>
<p>Julie stops, tilting an ear in the direction of the alley. With her back resting against the wall of the convenience store, she listens. </p>
<p>“I’d love to know what lovely parlor trick you just executed.”</p>
<p>Julie recognizes that voice as Danny Johnson, the most obnoxious human being in the country. She grimaces.</p>
<p>“What parlor trick?”</p>
<p>She cocks an eyebrow. Is that Quentin? And if so, why does he have that anxious inflection in his tone?</p>
<p>“Oh, you know...the one where you float five feet off the ground.”</p>
<p>
  <em> What the fuck…? </em>
</p>
<p>Julie has no bloody clue what Danny is talking about, but whatever it is, Quentin seems pretty uncomfortable. So, as Quentin stumbles around his words, trying to form an explanation, Julie steps nonchalantly out of her hiding spot and strides confidently towards the pair. “Hey, Quen. I was looking for you.”</p>
<p>Quentin and Danny both snap their attention around to focus on Julie, who keeps a deadpan expression and subtly puts herself between the two men. She throws an arm around Quentin’s shoulder with a loud sigh. “Thought you ditched me to wander the aisles of 7-11 all by myself. I mean, you <em> did </em>ditch me, but it’s somewhat thoughtful of you to only hide in the alley.”</p>
<p>“Uh...y-yeah? Sorry?” Quentin stammers. His attention momentarily flicks to the air at her right, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he looks...thankful?</p>
<p>It’s almost like something guided Julie here, and that ‘something’ is still here.</p>
<p>Regardless, Julie shoots a warning glare at Danny, not even bothering to sugarcoat her distaste for the photojournalist. “Have you ever considered staying in your own goddamn lane?”</p>
<p>“Ah, but I’m a photojournalist! It’s my entire job to snoop around for the latest story.” Danny chuckles, eyes still burning holes in Quentin. “And Mr.Smith here, well, he seems to be quite the <em> intriguing </em> subject.”</p>
<p>“Typically it’s frowned upon for a teacher to be so personally invested in their own student. Mostly because it’s creepy and unprofessional.” Julie grumbles, jabbing a finger into Danny’s chest.</p>
<p>Danny’s eyes flicker with anger for a moment, which catches Julie by surprise. She’s never seen the professor drop his overly casual persona, and it’s kind of...scary? To see something as intense as anger in his expression. </p>
<p>But as quickly as the emotion showed itself, it disappears, leaving Danny the same insufferable dumbass he always is. He cracks a smile. “I suppose you’re right. Quentin, I apologize for making you uncomfortable.”</p>
<p>“It’s...yeah. It’s no big deal.” Quentin manages to choke out, to Julie’s surprise. </p>
<p>She wasn’t sure the idiot would’ve been able to say anything at all with how anxious he looks. </p>
<p>Now that Danny’s backed down, Julie takes it upon herself to give him one final push. Giving Quentin a reassuring yet discreet shoulder squeeze, she uses her free hand to make a ‘go away’ gesture. “Mmkay, then. You can leave now.”</p>
<p>Julie could swear she sees that same dangerous look in Danny’s eyes. But she doesn’t have time to look too hard, because once again, the older man breaks into a smile and gives a cheeky wave. </p>
<p>“Enjoy your day while you can, friends. You never know when the weather will turn sour.” he chirps as he vanishes around the corner.</p>
<p>Julie and Quentin remain frozen in anxious silence for a few moments more, until they’re certain the lunatic has gone. Once he’s left, however, Quentin gently pulls out of Julie’s grasp and leans back against the wall with a shaky sigh. Julie scrutinizes him.</p>
<p>After a short time, Quentin shoots Julie a small smile and murmurs, “Thanks.”</p>
<p>She shrugs. “No big deal. I know how fucking annoying that guy is, with his whole ‘zero boundaries’ thing. Rumor has it, he’s even banged a few students and faculty.”</p>
<p>Quentin blinks owlishly at her. “You’re joking.”</p>
<p>“Do I look like I'm joking?” Julie huffs with a roll of her eyes. “He’s the sluttiest bitch on this side of Chicago, I’m surprised you haven’t picked up on it.”</p>
<p>“I’m usually preoccupied with other stuff. I don’t really pay attention to rumors.”</p>
<p>Julie smirks, folding her arms over her chest. “Fair enough.” After a moment’s deliberation, she decides to ask another question. “So what did he want? Was he trying to bang you too?”</p>
<p>“Wh--<em> no!” </em> Quentin splutters, his pale face turning cherry-red.</p>
<p>With a laugh, Julie playfully punches his shoulder. “Jesus, Quen, I’m just messing with you. Whatever he wants isn’t my business. But if he bugs you again, tell him to fuck off. Or deck him. I’m sure the dean will understand if you punch him while he’s making advances on you.”</p>
<p>“He’s not- he’s not making <em> advances </em>on me.” Quentin groans, carding his fingers through his wavy brown hair. “He’s just being nosy. About personal stuff.”</p>
<p>“Well then, just kick him in the balls.”</p>
<p>“He’s my professor, I can’t do that.”</p>
<p>“I’ll kick him in the balls <em> for </em>you.”</p>
<p>“<em> Julie.” </em></p>
<p>Julie holds up her hands in mock surrender. “I’m kidding. Take a joke.”</p>
<p>Quentin gives her a withering look. “You weren’t joking.”</p>
<p>“Okay, you got me,” Julie sighs, “But just...keep the offer in mind.”</p>
<p>In spite of the stoic facade Quentin is trying to keep up, he ends up laughing. It’s a soft, almost shy sound, and Julie kind of finds it endearing, but the fact still stands that Danny is being a nuisance. And Julie owes Quentin one after his weird paranormal intervention. So she keeps her own stony expression and continues, “I don’t like him.”</p>
<p>“I know. But he’s my professor, so there isn’t much I can do without jeopardizing my own success in this field.” Quentin replies with a sigh, folding his arms over his chest.</p>
<p>Julie starts walking, only pausing momentarily to make sure Quentin’s following her before continuing. Gesturing vaguely, she grumbles, “Do you even <em> want </em> to do photojournalism? It doesn’t seem to fit your whole vibe.”</p>
<p>Quentin shrugs, matching her pace. “My dad suggested it. Said it might benefit me to be out and about rather than sitting in an office doing mundane work. So I applied and got in. It’s fine, I guess.”</p>
<p>Eyes narrowing, Julie stares at him. “But you aren’t passionate about it.”</p>
<p>“Not really.”</p>
<p>“Change your major, then,” she suggests, “you seem to be into occult shit, so maybe do some...archaeology or something. You can look at cursed old artifacts like Indiana Jones and practice voodoo. Maybe sacrifice some virgins to Cthulu while you’re at it. Go live your best life, man.”</p>
<p>A chuckle leaves Quentin. Eyes glittering with amusement, he glances at Julie. “Sacrificing virgins to Cthulu is what you think ‘living my best life’ is?”</p>
<p>“Hey, there’s no judgement here. As long as you’re not doing some hateful shit, I couldn’t give a damn what you do. Just make sure you have an alibi if the police find out about your unorthodox pastimes.” Julie shoots back with a smirk.</p>
<p>Quentin rolls his eyes with a shake of his head, but there’s a tension in his shoulders that just won’t leave. Julie doesn’t initially make any comment on this, but it just seems to grow more prominent as they walk home, so she bites the bullet and decides to take a plunge. </p>
<p>“You still look nervous. What’s up?”</p>
<p>As expected, Quentin shrugs with a fake smile and replies, “Nothing.”</p>
<p>Julie scrutinizes him for a time, considering whether or not to press him further, but ultimately decides against it. She isn’t Quentin’s keeper, after all. And she knows Quentin wouldn’t push her to give out answers she isn’t comfortable giving. So she keeps her mouth shut. </p>
<p>When they finally step inside the house once more, Frank is still sitting on the couch playing videogames, just as he was earlier today when Julie left for class. She shoots the Legion’s frontman a withering glare. “Nice to see you’re being productive.”</p>
<p>Frank gives her an incredulous look. “I haven’t got anything better to do!”</p>
<p>“Taking a shower would be a great place to start.”</p>
<p>He blinks once, shocked, before lifting up his arm and sniffing his armpit. Then, he shrugs and replies, “I don’t smell that bad.”</p>
<p>“You do.” Quentin and Julie say in unison. </p>
<p>Frank gestures wildly, offended. “Whose side are you on, Quen?!”</p>
<p>“The side of personal hygiene.” Quentin states simply.</p>
<p>Julie can’t help snickering at that. She finds Quentin’s sass pretty entertaining, if she’s honest.</p>
<p>Frank lets out an exaggerated groan, dragging a hand down his face. He fixates both Quentin and Julie with an unamused scowl. “You two are insufferable.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, hun. Not everyone can pull it off like we can.” Julie practically singsongs, folding her arms across her chest with a smirk.</p>
<p>Frank is evidently not very happy with Julie’s sense of humor, which is fine with Julie. She knows she’s a fucking comedian. Frank just doesn’t appreciate her charm. So instead of dwelling on it, she flops down on the couch beside Frank and decides to recount her and Quentin’s lovely encounter. “I found Quentin being harassed by that photojournalism professor. Poor idiot was floundering and looked like he was going to keel over dead so I stepped in.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” Frank hums, cocking an eyebrow in interest. He raises his can of Coke to his lips.</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Julie continues with a nod in Quentin’s direction. “Apparently he was levitating.”</p>
<p>Quentin immediately goes rigid and Frank chokes on his drink. Well then. <em> That’s </em> certainly not cause for alarm. </p>
<p>Julie glances suspiciously between the two young men. “Is there something you two aren’t telling me?”</p>
<p>“No, no, no, it’s-” Frank chokes out between coughs. </p>
<p>“I was climbing the wall to reach higher up. I guess it looked like I was levitating or something? I don’t know, Danny’s fucking weird.” Quentin says levelly, eyes fixated on Julie.</p>
<p>She isn’t convinced, but yet again, she doesn’t care enough to pressure the boys. If they want to tell her something, they will. Julie knows she’s not the most approachable person in the world, but Quentin and Frank trust her enough that she knows they’ll come to her if they want to. It doesn’t bother her.</p>
<p>So she heaves a sigh and rises to her feet. “I’m gonna be in my room if you need me. I’ve got some schoolwork to do.”</p>
<p>Neither of the boys say anything. Julie isn’t bothered.</p>
<p>They’ll tell her their secrets when they’re ready.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Quentin is uneasy.</p>
<p>Well, he’s always uneasy, but he’s more on edge than normal at the moment. Probably because he still feels Danny’s spirit’s aura lingering outside the house, along with Danny’s own aura. They prowl around the area, very obviously focused on Quentin, and the young man in question isn’t comfortable at all. </p>
<p>The thing that makes it worse, is that it’s mid-afternoon when he finally feels the auras leave. So now, Danny and his Guardian know where he lives, and Danny also knows that Quentin is a peculiar human being. Not to mention, he can feel the Entity’s energy growing closer to the First Plane as the sun moves across the sky. It lingers like a disease, billowing and rippling against the walls, threatening to creep in with the night and choke the air from Quentin’s lungs…</p>
<p>...the Entity has been getting closer to the First Plane, and Quentin doesn’t like that.</p>
<p>Unable to relax due to nerves, Quentin sits in the living room, hands laced together in his lap with his eyes fixated on the floor. </p>
<p>He heaves a sigh. Tonight is probably going to be another sleepless night. </p>
<p>Quentin realizes then, that this whole ‘spending a night sitting on the couch’ thing is becoming a pattern. Maybe he should just move his bed down into the living room, or maybe he should try sleeping on the couch…</p>
<p>“You okay, man?”</p>
<p>Quentin jumps at the quiet comment, snapping his head around to face Frank. The taller man sits nonchalantly to Quentin’s right, his own grey eyes still locked on the TV screen.</p>
<p>“No.” Quentin admits, leaning back against the couch. </p>
<p>With a sigh, Frank pauses his game and rests the controller in his lap. They remain quiet for a time, before Frank breaks the silence. “Is it Danny?”</p>
<p>Quentin shrugs his shoulders. “Guess so.”</p>
<p>“Can you report him for harassment? Or tell him to piss off?”</p>
<p>“Nope.” Quentin readily admits, laughing. Frank doesn’t laugh.</p>
<p>The taller student glances out the window, pensive. “Did he find out something about your whole deal?”</p>
<p>This conversation is going into dangerous territory. Quentin lowers his gaze. After a moment or two, he replies, “Sort of.”</p>
<p>“Damn.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>Frank fiddles with his controller for a moment. “So I’ve been meaning to ask...what exactly is the big deal with people finding out about you? The way I see it, the worst that could happen is that people start thinking you’re insane.”</p>
<p>“That’s one reason I don’t tell people about it,” Quentin admits, “but there’s more significant reasons.”</p>
<p>“Those being…?”</p>
<p>Quentin shoots Frank a cocky smirk. “You really think I’m gonna dump a ton of exposition on you only a few days after you learned about me? No. You’ll figure it out eventually. When I feel like telling you.”</p>
<p>“You fucker.”</p>
<p>“I’m not obligated to tell you anything just because you know about it.” Quentin snickers. “Nice try, though. Nosy bastard.”</p>
<p>“I’m not nosy.” Frank protests, which earns him a skeptical look from Quentin.</p>
<p>“You are.” Quentin says bluntly.</p>
<p>Frank throws his arms up in an exaggerated gesture at Quentin’s words, expression offended. “Tell me <em> one </em> time I’ve been nosy.”</p>
<p>With a smile, Quentin holds up a hand like he’s going to start counting off his fingers. Frank immediately interrupts him. “Never mind.”</p>
<p>Quentin can’t help laughing at that. At least Frank knows when he’s lost an argument, which is both hysterical and a relief. It means Quentin doesn’t have to worry about reasoning with a brick wall. He reaches into his pocket and withdraws the charm he’d been messing with that morning.</p>
<p>It’s a simple bundle of twigs bound with a coloured pattern of ribbons, giving off the pungent smell of sage. It hangs from a simple string attached to the ribbons, which makes it much easier to hang from something. Quentin rises to his feet. </p>
<p>He’s aware of Frank watching him as he crosses the room and reaches up to tie the charm to the curtain rod above the front windows, but it doesn’t bother Quentin. In fact, it’s kind of nice to not be judged for his odd behaviors. </p>
<p>“Don’t the spirits living here get pissed off about the charms?” Frank asks, which makes Quentin sigh in exasperation.</p>
<p>
  <em> So many questions… </em>
</p>
<p>“Yeah, but they know it keeps me from getting high-strung. So they deal with it.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Okay.” Frank hums. “They seem cool enough.”</p>
<p>“75% of the guardian spirits living here are fine. The last 25% is an outlier and his opinion doesn’t matter to me.”</p>
<p>Chuckling, Frank watches the charm hanging from the curtain rod. “Izzan, right?”</p>
<p>Quentin’s scowl seems to be answer enough. Frank laughs harder.And as Quentin prepares to shoot back a snarky response, his voice dies in his throat. </p>
<p>There’s something else here.</p>
<p>Quentin can always tell when there’s something new approaching him on the Second Plane, regardless of whether or not he can detect its aura. He’s not quite sure how to explain it, but there’s a change in air pressure that makes his ears pop, and a drop in temperature that accompanies a chill down his spine. </p>
<p>Frank is utterly oblivious to the presence of the creature, so Quentin keeps up a facade of normalcy. He doesn’t need to freak Frank out, as much as he’d like to see the Legion frontman unnerved by the presence of spirits. </p>
<p>Shadows dance in the corners of the room.</p>
<p>
  <em> “Boundary-dweller.” </em>
</p>
<p>Quentin sits back down, trying to let the tension melt out of his frame. </p>
<p>In the window is a Stray. Or a Ghost, Quentin can’t quite tell yet. Either way, it watches him with two orblike white eyes set in an inky black body. Blobs of it slough off and rise into the air, like wax melting in zero gravity, only to be replaced by more voidlike matter in a vaguely humanoid shape. </p>
<p>
  <em> “Boundary-dweller.” </em>
</p>
<p>It can’t get in, not with the sheer number of wards and charms hidden throughout the house, but that doesn’t stop Quentin from feeling uneasy. </p>
<p>There’s only one reason that Ghosts and Strays seek him out like this, and it’s not good. Quentin’s hand subconsciously drifts to his left side, where ugly scars hide beneath his sweater. He swallows. </p>
<p>
  <em> Tangled in blankets, writhing on the floor as blood pools beneath him and stains the carpet.  </em>
</p>
<p>There’s a slight tremor in his hands. </p>
<p>
  <em> His dad’s horrified face as he tries to fight off the poison coursing through his veins. </em>
</p>
<p>“...entin? Quentin?” </p>
<p>Quentin is dragged back to reality by Frank’s calm voice. He glances aside, into concerned grey eyes. “You good?”</p>
<p>It takes some time for Quentin to find his voice again, but when he does, he nods. “Yeah. I think so.”</p>
<p>His attention drifts back to the creature hovering outside, watching him. It hasn’t moved at all and still stares right into his soul. Quentin shudders. The lights flicker. </p>
<p>Frank glances up at the lights in surprise before returning his attention to Quentin. </p>
<p>“Is there something here?”</p>
<p>Quentin considers lying, but ultimately decides against it. “Yeah.”</p>
<p>There’s a spark of alarm in Frank’s expression, but it fades quickly. It’s replaced by stern alertness. “A Stray?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.” Quentin replies. “I can’t tell yet.”</p>
<p>“Where is it?”</p>
<p>“Outside. Staring in the window.”</p>
<p>As expected, Frank looks at the window despite being unable to see what’s there. Quentin almost laughs at the absurdity of the gesture, but doesn’t. It’ll just make Frank think he’s crazier than he already is. </p>
<p>The spirit’s tarry body shifts and ripples, forming a hand-like appendage and pressing it against the window. It drags its hand down, leaving a trail of inky black sludge on the glass. <em> “Boundary-dweller…” </em></p>
<p>“How do you fight them off? The spirits, I mean.” Frank interrupts Quentin’s thoughts again.</p>
<p>After a moment of deliberation, Quentin shakes his head to clear it and mumbles, “I just yell at them, mostly. It tends to work.”</p>
<p>The look Frank gives him is priceless. </p>
<p>“You just...tell them to fuck off and they do?”</p>
<p>“Kind of.”</p>
<p>“So you don’t use, like, holy water or salt or anything?”</p>
<p>Quentin shrugs. “Sometimes I do. It really depends on how I’m feeling, and what the spirit is.”</p>
<p>“Cool. Ok. Uh, you feel like elaborating?”</p>
<p>“Nope.”</p>
<p>Frank nods in a rough approximation of acceptance, although it’s very obvious that he isn’t satisfied with Quentin’s answer. But Quentin isn’t particularly concerned with Frank at the moment. Instead, he finds himself turning his attention back to the creature in the window. </p>
<p>With a sigh, he rises to his feet and draws close to the window. Once he’s there, he lowers himself down on his knees and meets the spirit’s eyes. A few moments of silence pass before the creature speaks in its rasy, echoing voice once more, “<em> Boundary-dweller…” </em></p>
<p>Quentin swallows as he gives the spirit a greeting gesture. “Can I help you?”</p>
<p>The spirit tilts its voidlike head. <em> “...help…?” </em></p>
<p>“Yes. Why are you here?”</p>
<p>It takes some time to reply, but when it does, Quentin feels his stomach lurch. </p>
<p>
  <em> “...Entity…needs you…” </em>
</p>
<p>That can only mean one thing: the Entity is starting to recruit smaller spirits to find him. And just because the Entity cannot enter a human home, it doesn’t mean she can’t wait him out. The Entity is an ageless, primordial being, and she has eternity to wait for her chance to strike.</p>
<p>And Quentin doesn’t care <em> what </em> her intentions are with him, because whatever they are, they’ll probably spell certain doom for him. </p>
<p>Quentin’s previously welcoming mindset has done a full 180 into hostile mistrust. His expression twists into something he knows is absolutely vicious. “Get out of here.”</p>
<p>The spirit presses its amorphous hands to the glass. <em> “...boundary-dweller…” </em></p>
<p>“I said,” Quentin snaps, “<em> Get out of here.” </em></p>
<p>Letting his emotions spike out of control is dangerous for a number of reasons, but Quentin can’t be bothered to care at the moment. He lets the anger flood into his own aura, giving the spirit a chance to pick up on it and process his hostility. Thankfully, it seems to understand, because the thing lets out a harsh screech and melts into a writhing blob of tar before shooting away across the yard and into a storm drain. </p>
<p>Once that’s all over and done with, Quentin heaves a sigh and rises to his feet again. He watches the front yard for a moment, half-expecting to see the spirit return, but it doesn’t. So he turns and flops down on the couch with Frank again, groaning. He pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand.</p>
<p>Frank watches Quentin for a moment. “Is it gone?”</p>
<p>Quentin grunts noncommittally. </p>
<p>“I’ll take that as a yes.” Frank says. “What did it want?”</p>
<p>“You ask too many questions.” Quentin grumbles, which pulls a laugh from Frank.</p>
<p>“Guess you’re right. But you aren’t the best at giving information, so I have to ask questions. So tell me what it wanted.”</p>
<p>After glaring at Frank for a few moments, Quentin drags his hand down his face to rest it on his stomach. “I think it wanted to bring me to the Entity.”</p>
<p>“The Entity is the thing trying to hunt you down, right?”</p>
<p>“Right.”</p>
<p>“So that means…?”</p>
<p>With a frustrated noise, Quentin throws his hands in the air and snaps, “It <em> means, </em> the Entity is asking random spirits to find me for her now. Which is fucking <em> wonderful. </em>”</p>
<p>A heavy silence hangs between the two young men for a time before Frank lets out a low whistle and laces his hands behind his head. “That’s rough.”</p>
<p>“No shit.”</p>
<p>“Just tryin’ to be sympathetic, man,” Frank sighs, “you’re a prickly son of a bitch, you know that?”</p>
<p>“Can you blame me?” Quentin mutters.</p>
<p>Frank shakes his head. “Nope. I understand where you’re comin’ from. So tell me what I can do.”</p>
<p>It takes a moment for Quentin to process what Frank said, but when he does, he shoots the taller man an incredulous look. “Come again?”</p>
<p>“I said, tell me what I can do. To help your case.” Frank repeats, rolling his eyes. </p>
<p>Quentin momentarily considers being snarky, telling him to screw off and not get caught up in this whole spirit-world bullshit, but changes his mind at the last second. With a sigh, he glances up at the ceiling. “I can show you how to make wards. Little ones as well as the spray painted ones. That’s about all I can do for now.”</p>
<p>“Okay. I’ll also try looking up shit on all this spirit stuff. I dunno what I’ll find, but maybe I’ll drop by one of those occult-wiccan-ghost-hunting-crap stores. There’s gotta be one in the city.” Frank comments.</p>
<p>Quentin huffs in amusement. “I doubt you’ll find anything. But sure.” After a few moments of deliberation, Quentin looks down and mumbles, “Thanks.”</p>
<p>Frank cracks a cocky grin. Without warning, he throws an arm around Quentin’s shoulder and shakes him vigorously. “Look at you, being all thankful and shit. Maybe I am gettin’ through your thick head.”</p>
<p>“Oh, fuck off.” Quentin hisses, wriggling out of Frank’s grip. </p>
<p>Yet despite his harsh words, there’s no bite to his tone. And maybe Quentin’s going soft or something, but he can’t really bring himself to shoot back a snarky reply. </p>
<p>Perhaps having someone on his side, someone who knows about all the spirit stuff, won’t be so bad.</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Look at that, Julie makes a proper appearance with her own POV! Not gonna lie, I love Julie. Girl needs more cosmetics in DBD tho. Also a lot of people peg Frank as the one who gets the gang into trouble, but it was Julie who hyped the gang to do Murder(tm) and also named the Legion, so like, why isn't she the leader of the Legion? I'm out here asking the real questions ngl.</p>
<p>Julie for Legion president 2k21.</p>
<p>Also Danny is a pain in the ass, but he's so much fun to write. He's like a cracked out Willy Wonka with stabby tendencies.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>lmao I'm making an askblog for this au because I am actually trash. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <a href="https://hello-dreamwalkers.tumblr.com/">The askblog</a></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <a href="https://hitas-stuff.tumblr.com/">My main blog</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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